Framed
by NivalVixen2
Summary: COMPLETE! Stiles' first day at the FBI was also going to be his last. That had to be some kind of record, surely? ... On his first day at the FBI, Stiles discovers that Derek is wanted for mass murder. Stiles knows that Derek's innocent and is determined to find out who framed him.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Teen Wolf.

 _Read on, oh faithful ones_...

...

Chapter One

...

"Hey Scott, so I'm here. I'm in Quantico, Virginia at the FBI. I'm at the freaking FBI! It's real. I'm really here. Look I kinda told Lydia that I miss her, and I can't wait to get home, but listen, Scott, whatever you're doing right now just make sure you're still getting out of Beacon Hills. Maybe you think that, you know, the whole thing falls apart if you're not there, which I get, but you have to. I know you're supposed to drive out tonight, so if you don't call me back, just promise me that you're going. Just get in the Jeep and go."

Satisfied that he'd left enough command in his tone that Scott would actually obey, Stiles ended the call and headed through the building - the FBI building - to his first session of the day.

Spitting water over one of his classmates (FBI-mates? Peers? _Ooh, better_.) wasn't exactly going to be a highlight of his day, but then neither was finding out that _Derek Hale_ was a suspect for murder. Mass murder, at that.

New FBI recruits weren't allowed their phones on inside the building due to security reasons, so as soon as Stiles overcame the shock of his instructor's words, he was desperate to get outside of the building and on his phone asap. Stiles planned on sending a text along the lines of ' _what the actual fuck, Derek Hale?!_ ' just as soon as he possibly could.

Unfortunately, that wouldn't be soon enough, because the details for Derek's case were brought to the forefront after his incessant questions. His peers decided to psychoanalyse every single thing they could about both the case and person, desperate to prove themselves to the FBI, each other, and maybe themselves.

The details for the case were oddly vague considering the detail usually seen in FBI cases. Stiles restrained himself from shouting that he knew that the information was wrong because he was with Derek on those dates, or, y'know, the Nogistune was fighting him on that day. There was another so-called murder the week they found Derek in Mexico.

He wanted to shout at the top of his lungs that this wasn't right, that Derek wouldn't hurt anyone. Not anyone who didn't deserve it, at least. Stiles couldn't say any of this, not without those same desperate-to-please peers turning on him. Besides, he's certain that they'd find out about his connection to the "mass murderer" soon enough, and he felt his stomach turning and churning, like butterflies going through a wood chipper.

 _His first day at the FBI was going to be his last. That had to be some kind of record, surely?_

Stiles stayed quiet for most of the session, to the obvious relief of his instructor and peers. He took diligent notes, using his own form of shorthand to write the _real_ details of what had happened on the dates his peers called out. He tried to keep his expression neutral as people who _didn't know the first thing_ about Derek examined every last detail of his life.

Derek had his family torn from him, literally _burnt to ashes_ , and these people were acting as though he came out from that... that _trauma_ as the world's biggest villain. The complete and utter opposite was true, and Stiles hated that these people couldn't see that.

 _Where were the details about how he had saved people's lives, and always made sure to stock extra bags of candy and chocolate at Halloween, and how he'd sacrifice himself before letting anyone he cared about coming to harm? Where was_ ** _that_** _in the stupid file?!_

"Known acquaintances: Peter Hale, redacted, and... redacted. Well, that's helpful," one of Stiles' peers muttered, glaring down at the paper in frustration.

"What?" Stiles asked, eyes wide.

She was the one he'd accidentally spat on earlier, and she still didn't look overly pleased at him for that, but she handed the paper to him with a shrug. "A lot of names are redacted. Doesn't make sense in a case like this, huh?"

"No, no it doesn't," Stiles muttered, eyes scanning down the paper. He reached for another piece of paper, eyes taking it in at a glance, then another, and another.

In every place possible, Scott's name was redacted, and for some reason, so was _his_.

Before he could say or ask anything, they were let out for lunch, and Stiles followed the group, his mind already whirring overtime to try to make the connections and fit all of the puzzle pieces together. His finger itch, and Stiles wished that he'd at least brought a piece of string to help him focus.

The lunch room wasn't exactly quiet, but there's enough whispered conversation that when it stopped completely, Stiles definitely noticed. He looked up from his notes to see what had happened and his face settled into a scowl. Remembering where he was, Stiles tried to make himself look more neutral instead, but it was difficult when Agent Dickface was heading over to his table.

His peers, to put it lightly, freaked out a little. They sat up straighter, looked attentive, and Stiles was pretty sure that one guy was _this close_ to drooling and/or fainting.

"Good afternoon recruits; it's good to see some new faces," Rafe McCall said, smiling at the group broadly.

Stiles couldn't stop the scowl this time, but at least the others were all looking at Agent Fuckwad instead of him.

"What have you been working on this morning?" Rafe asked, sitting at the end of the table and looking at them expectantly.

The final puzzle piece fell into place and Stiles looked at Rafe sharply. Rafe returned his gaze for a split second, cool and unperturbed, before his gaze continued to the rest of the group.

They finally seemed to realise that _Agent Rafe McCall_ actually expected an answer and they hurried to tell him everything about their case that they possibly could.

"Excuse me," Stiles muttered, barely even noticed by his peers as he stood and left.

Rafe glanced after him briefly, but returned his attention to the rest of the recruits, who were vying for his attention and approval.

...

Stiles made it outside using his very own swipe card - not stolen, borrowed _or_ copied, thank you very much - and turned his phone on. He had a few messages from his father, saying how proud he was, how he expected a full report that evening, and that Scott had taken the Jeep earlier that morning. Stiles breathed a sigh of relief on seeing that text.

He swiped through his contacts and settled on Scott's name for a moment, then continued past. Stiles felt as though a piece of lead had settled in his stomach, and he had a brief thought about Agent McJerk, wondering if he had had any hand in Stiles actually getting to the FBI. There was a time in his senior year when his grades had slipped, so while Stiles had been hopeful about getting in to the FBI, he hadn't _really_ expected to get in.

He finally settled on the contact for 'wolf' and sent a text message.

 _You're being framed for mass murder. Run._

Stiles turned off his phone and headed back inside.

...

End of the first chapter.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

...

Stiles turned his phone on once he'd reached his shoebox apartment later that night. It was a personal form of Hell to not have his phone to distract him on public transport, but he couldn't bring himself to turn it on. Now that Stiles was finally home, he turned the phone on. He immediately felt sick, even though the chime was only to tell him the phone was actually turning on. Stiles turned the phone to silent, set it on the bedside table face-down, and willed it not to vibrate.

 _Buzz._

 _Buzz._

 _Buzz._

 _Buzz._

 _Buzz._

The phone stopped and Stiles breathed. He could handle five messages. He picked up the phone when he was certain no more messages would come through, turned the volume back on and unlocked the screen without looking. Stiles took three deep breaths, counted his fingers to ten, and then opened his eyes.

The Sheriff: _Hey kiddo. Just texting to see if everything's going okay. Hoped I'd get you in your lunch break, but I must've missed you. Talk tonight._

Bro: _I couldn't do it. I got to the border of Beacon County. I'll try again tomorrow. UC Davis doesn't start for another two months anyway_.

Red-headed goddess: _I want a full report of everything you did and everyone you met; until I go to MIT, I'm living vicariously through you, understood?_

Malia: _Flight was delayed. Didn't go to France. Next time._

Wolf: _What murder? Who's framing me? What's going on, Stiles?_

Stiles gnawed at his nail, looking at the last text. He suddenly felt exhausted. _No one would have to know if he just ignored their messages and went to bed instead, right?_

He re-read the other four messages, frowning at Scott and Malia's texts. It didn't seem right that _both_ of them suddenly had to stay in Beacon Hills, but maybe he was overthinking it. Scott hadn't left Beacon Hills for more than a lacrosse game in years, he had a right to be nervous about it. Still, that didn't mean Stiles wasn't going to make him get away with it guilt-free.

To Bro: _Dude, you promised. Don't make me come back there!_

To Malia: _Bummer. Did they at least give you your money back?_

To Red-headed goddess: _I saw Scott's Dad today; don't tell him. Oh, and Derek's been framed for mass murder. Again. Has he left town yet?_

Stiles closed his eyes and sighed, then he rang his father immediately, not wanting to deal with the consequence of that last text just yet. Maybe tomorrow.

"Stiles? How was your first day?"

"Uh, yeah, it was great. Learnt a lot," Stiles said, not _exactly_ lying.

"That's great to hear. Did you let the instructors actually teach you?" the Sheriff asked, sounding amused.

"I tried," Stiles said with a laugh, feeling a little better already. "How's things there?" he asked, hoping to distract his father from further questions.

"About the usual," the Sheriff replied.

Stiles frowned. " _Usual_ as in everyone's fighting for their lives, or _usual_ as in someone tried to rob Mrs. Gawler's corner store?"

The Sheriff looked out at his office where one of his deputies had a bandage around his head and Parrish was bloodied and bruised. "It's nothing we can't handle. You're at the FBI now, Stiles."

"What happened?" Stiles asked, instantly alert and pacing between his bed and kitchen.

"Stiles, _no_ , you are not getting back into this, okay? This place won't fall apart without you here to save it, I promise," he replied.

Stiles clenched his hand in a fist and bit it hard, though he knew his father was right. He'd said the same thing to Scott, after all. _So why didn't he believe it?_

"Okay. Fine," Stiles said, sighing. He stopped pacing and sighed again, then rubbed his forehead with the palm of his hand before admitting in a rush, "Derek's been framed for mass murder."

"Again?" the Sheriff asked, sounding exasperated.

"Yeah, and all of these kids were picking apart his life, and they don't know the first thing about what he went through, what _any_ of us went through. I just... I want to find out who's framing him, but that's not going to go down too well with my peers," Stiles muttered.

"When's that ever stopped you before?"

Stiles looked to the wall he'd kept free for his work, to the photo of Derek he'd brought with him, and nodded to himself. "That's true."

The Sheriff managed a wry laugh. "I'll let you get to it then."

"Thanks, Pops. Oh, and... let me know what's happening, okay? I promise not to fly back at the first thing, but... I need to know what's going on."

"Same with you, Stiles. Oh, and tomorrow, try to listen to your instructors this time; they might know more than you know."

Stiles scoffed. "Unless they know all twelve types of wolfsbane to incapacitate a werewolf, then _no one_ there knows more than I do."

"Yeah, all right, don't sound so cocky about it. Love you, kiddo."

"Love you too, Pops," Stiles said, then ended the call.

He opened the suitcase he'd brought with him and started unpacking the most important things of all: multiple balls of string, scissors, and thumb tacks.

"All right; time to find out who's framing Derek," he muttered, looking to the notes he'd taken in his notebook.

...

Stiles' phone rang abruptly, making him curse and flail, his hands getting caught in a length of red string. He saw the time and the caller ID, then winced at both.

"Hey, Derek. How's things?"

" _How's. Things?_ Stiles, you text me saying I'm being framed for mass murder and then didn't send anything else for the rest of the day! Explain. Now," Derek said, his voice a low growl.

Stiles sat on his bed, yelping when he sat on his scissors, then moved them and sat down again. "Uh, so... I started at the FBI this morning. There was a... they had a video of you, and said you were wanted for mass murder."

There was silence on the other end of the phone and Stiles undid the red string while he waited, setting it aside.

"Who's murder?" Derek asked finally, his voice sounding thick, but most of all, he just sounded _tired_.

"Basically anyone in the last three years who's had their throats torn out," Stiles said. "I get the irony, but it's so not funny. I'm trying to find out who framed you."

Derek exhaled loudly at that, as though he'd expected Stiles to believe the FBI, as though he was expecting Stiles to hunt him down.

"Dude, you okay?"

"Don't call me dude," Derek said, the words practically a Pavlovian response after all these years. "I thought... I thought you'd texted me to give me a head start."

Stiles frowned. "I kinda did? I don't want you to be in town when the FBI show up. But I'll work on clearing your name. Y'know, again. Hey, doesn't it seem stupid that you keep getting pinned for this stuff? I mean, you're basically a giant teddy bear. But with claws."

"Bears have claws too, Stiles."

"Touché. But still, it's stupid. You think they'd go for something more original." Stiles could practically hear Derek rolling his eyes in response, and grinned. "I'd better get some sleep if I'm going to clear your name."

"All right. Thank you, Stiles," Derek said, the words almost a whisper.

"Anytime, Derek," Stiles replied.

He could practically hear Derek's heart breaking and Stiles wanted nothing more than to reach out and hug Derek, to give him some form of comfort beyond _this_.

"Stiles?" Derek added before he could hang up.

"Yeah?"

"I trust you."

Derek hung up without waiting for a response, and Stiles set the phone aside, his hand trembling.

...

End of the second chapter.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

...

Stiles had a day of tactical driving which ended up being more monotonous than he'd expected. He was used to Roscoe's heavy handling, so being in a far smaller automatic car with all-wheel drive, cruise control, and a _reverse camera_ was a little daunting.

 _Who needed a camera to reverse, anyway?_

After his first drive, knocking over every single traffic cone in sight, his instructor spent a good five minutes yelling at Stiles. The man butchered the pronunciation of his first name but Stiles didn't want the evil man to have the _honour_ of using his nickname anyway.

When it was his turn again, Stiles sat behind the wheel and imagined the traffic cones were baby werewolf cubs. He came to an abrupt stop next to his peers and instructors, the former with their jaws open in surprise at his sudden ability to avoid the cones.

"Not bad, Stilinski, but you can do better!"

Stiles' eyebrows shot up at that; he hadn't missed a single cone and his time was mere seconds from his peers who _had_ hit the cones. He was tempted to do the course in reverse, just to prove that he fucking could and his instructor was an asshole, but Stiles forcefully reminded himself that if he fucked up here, he wouldn't get any further with Derek's case.

The thought made him feel sick to his stomach; if Stiles wasn't at the FBI, he wouldn't be able to solve the case, his peers would hunt Derek down, he'd probably end up in prison, and then Stiles would end up becoming an accomplice and going on the run because there was no way he was letting Derek rot away in prison. The martyr would probably think he'd deserved it, even though he hadn't deserved anything life had thrown at him. Sometimes literally.

"Focus on what matters, Stilinski," he muttered to himself, getting out of the car so the next person could get behind the wheel.

...

Again, at lunch, Agent McAsshole came to their table to talk to the recruits. One of Stiles' peers mentioned how he'd been the first to pass the intensive driving, and Rafe looked straight at him for the first time in ten minutes.

"Congratulations, Mr. Stilinski. I'm sure your family and friends would be very pleased to hear that you're doing well here," Rafe said, the words far too _nice_ and his eyes sharp.

Stiles clenched his jaw and couldn't bring himself to reply; not without his usual sarcasm, not without wanting to hurt the man who'd hurt Scott.

"How are you all enjoying the case so far? I could request a different case, if you'd like?" Rafe asked, looking between the recruits.

Stiles heard the threat in his question and under the table his hands clenched into tight fists. _What the hell did he want? Everyone wanted something, and Rafe obviously wanted something from Stiles or else he'd take the case - Derek's case - away from him._ A hundred possibilities ran through his mind; Stiles was pretty certain that if McCallous didn't want him at the FBI, then he wouldn't be there. Stiles thought back to their last encounter, to Scott's last encounter with his father, and he suddenly knew what the man wanted.

"My best friend is going to UC Davis," Stiles blurted out.

Rafe relaxed. It wasn't obvious to everyone at the table as Stiles' peers were looking at him like he was crazy - _why would Agent Rafe McCall care about_ ** _his_** _best friend?!_ \- but Stiles, who had spent a summer watching Derek Hale for the slightest bit of emotion, the way a tilt or raising of his eyebrows could convey entire sentences, saw Rafe's shoulders lose a hint of tension, the twitch of a smile at his mouth. He was right.

"I'm sure his parents are very proud," Rafe said, again with words that seemed simple and nice, but conveying another message for those who knew where to look.

Stiles had received 99% on his accuracy test (he lost a percent for writing a paragraph that detailed the history of one of the ink blot tests; they were lucky it was only a paragraph), so he knew _exactly_ where to look.

Agent McNutsack wanted Stiles to be a messenger boy to Scott since he couldn't get the balls to do it himself, and to make sure he complied, he was using Derek as leverage.

Stiles nodded, his jaw clenched, and ignored the agent for the rest of the lunch break.

...

"You spoke to my dad? Willingly?" Scott asked, surprised.

"Yeah, he's currently at Quantico, heading up his own division; it's surprisingly difficult to avoid him," Stiles muttered, rolling his eyes. "He's proud of you for going to UC Davis," he added, pulling a face.

"He is?" Scott asked with a smile.

"Yeah. About that, he's basically bribing me to provide info on you so I can keep working on Derek's case. Can I feed him a bit of random crap until he gets the balls to talk to you again?"

"What's Derek's case?"

"Oh. Uh, he's being framed for mass murder. It's a total set up 'cause he was either in BH for most of it, de-aged by Kate, or fighting the Nogitsune."

Scott took a moment to breathe before he answered, both of them silent at the memory of the Nogitsune, of Allison, of the darkness still inside them. "Tell him whatever you want. Just... no embarrassing stories from primary school, okay?"

Stiles snorted. "I'd be embarrassing myself right there along with you, so no problem, Scotty. Now; when were you going to tell me what was going down? There was an attack at the station, Parrish got hurt, what else aren't you telling me?"

Scott winced; _he'd forgotten to talk to the Sheriff about_ ** _not_** _telling Stiles what had happened_. "Wait. You're not coming back to deal with this?"

"Dude, I'm stuck with the FBI for four months; if I leave now with no warning, I'll never get this chance again. But I'll help as much as I can from here, I promise. Now, spill every detail," Stiles said, pulling out his notebook and eyeing the opposite wall as a new board.

 _He didn't really need to hang his clothes up, did he?_

Scott was still a little surprised, but he dutifully relayed everything he remembered. Then he called Lydia to add her input to the call. She was re-packing Malia's suitcase for France, who had decided to go rat hunting with Liam and Mason in some of her _nicer_ clothes.

"You weren't going to tell me, Lyds?" Stiles asked, sounding more hurt than he'd intended.

"I don't want to lose you again. I refuse to lose any more best friends," Lydia replied, her stern voice slipping and breaking at the end.

There was a long moment of silence.

"I'm your best friend?" Stiles asked, grinning.

"If you have to ask -"

"Nope, I'm good. I'm your best friend. Huh, cool. Hey, is there like, a legal limit of how many best friends you can have?"

"Stiles, you're at the FBI now, you're a grown adult, please _act_ like one," Lydia said, rolling her eyes.

"Ha, no chance of that! You knew what you signed up for, _bestie_ ," Stiles teased, grinning.

Lydia made a noise that sounded as though she regretted every decision she'd ever made in her life.

"Can we, uh, get back to the hellhound terrorising town?" Scott asked.

"Sure thing, Scotty. Parrish said the hellhound's hunting for something or someone, didn't he? Can you just ask him what it is?"

"What?" Scott and Lydia said at the same time.

"Y'know, be an _adult_ and actually ask the hellhound who or what they're looking for? Within a safe distance, of course."

"What exactly is a safe distance when a hellhound is concerned? Mountain ash doesn't work on them. Or me, remember?" Scott pointed out.

"Oh, yeah, I know. I think I've got a spell for that, actually. Well, it's in one of Deaton's books that I might or might not have illegally copied..." Stiles added, trailing off with a cough. He opened a file on his laptop that was hidden away, password protected, _and_ encrypted. Even his porn folder had less protection. "It's a spell to keep both parties stuck in their separate areas, and it lasts for a good two hours or something, so be careful with it," Stiles added. "Also, check with Deaton in case there's another spell that can let you out before the hellhound or something. I don't want to modify it and get you stuck somewhere for two weeks or something."

"This is surprisingly mature of you, Stiles. I'm very proud," Lydia said, teasingly.

"Good. Don't tell anyone," Stiles said with a laugh. "Okay, there; I've sent the spell to both of you. Let me know how it goes, yeah? And stop keeping secrets from me, dammit," he added.

"Sorry, buddy," Scott said, wincing.

"Sorry, Stiles. We only hid it because we were worried you'd come back," Lydia said.

"Yeah, I know. I'd probably do the same thing if you were here and I was there," Stiles said, knowing it for the truth. "I've gotta study for tomorrow. We're working on Derek's case again."

"Hey, say hi to my dad for me? Y'know, if you can. He didn't exactly leave his number when he left last time," Scott said.

"Sure thing, Scotty; _that_ won't be awkward," Stiles muttered. "Let me know what happens with the hellhound, okay?"

Both Scott and Lydia agreed, then said goodbye and hung up. Stiles set his phone down, sighing heavily before moving the wardrobe out of his way.

...

End of the third chapter.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

...

"Mr. Stilinski, a word before you start your day," Rafe said, practically standing in front of Stiles so he couldn't go inside the room. "Won't be a minute, Sean," he added to Stiles' instructor over his shoulder.

Sean nodded, though Stiles wondered if he looked a little _too_ pleased that he was going to be delayed. He held the strap of his messenger bag a little tighter as he followed Agent McBastard down the corridor to the empty lunch room.

"I passed on your message; Scott says hi. Can I go?"

"Look, we both know that Hale didn't murder all of those people."

Rafe's words stopped Stiles short and he looked at him, suspicious, but not stupid enough to answer and incriminate himself.

"I looked for _Miguel Juarez Cinqua Tiago_ when I got back to San Francisco, Stiles. As you probably know, I didn't find a thing about him. What I did find were pictures of Derek Hale. Don't look surprised; the FBI have access to more databases than you will ever know about. I found pictures of Hale soon after the fire that killed his family, and guess who he bore a striking resemblance to?"

Stiles gulped. "Uh... My cousin?"

Rafe's expression turned stern. "Don't play games with me, Stilinski. I _will_ win."

"What's the prize? Hell, what's the damn game?" Stiles snapped.

Stiles was so angry that he didn't even notice that his messenger bag strap was _melting_ in his his hand. The thought of Derek being used as a pawn in Agent Dickbag's shitty little game was enough to make him feel sick and _so very angry_.

 _Derek was more than a pawn, more than a king, more than anything to be used like this, and Agent Wanker had_ ** _no idea_** _what he was doing by putting Derek's life in harm's way_.

"You've put a man's life in jeopardy _again_ because you can't grow a pair and talk to your own son, is that it?! Either talk to Scott or don't, but stop fucking around like this! And stop hurting Derek!" Stiles said, his voice loud.

"Stiles, calm down. I'm not - " Rafe started to say, but Stiles put a hand up to stop him from coming any closer, and the agent was thrown clear across the lunchroom, crashing into a table and several chairs.

Stiles' eyes went wide. "Holy shit." He looked from Rafe to his hand, then to his ruined messenger bag. He regretted the bag more than hurting Rafe, honestly.

Rafe groaned a little and stood up slowly. Stiles couldn't bring himself to move, but stayed at the other side of the room; he was still pretty pissed off, and even if knocking Rafe unconscious would make him feel better, it would probably mean an abrupt end to Stiles' time at the Academy.

Stiles wondered what Rafe was going to do; there was no way he could explain this rationally _or_ lie or bluff his way out of it. He hadn't even touched Rafe, yet he'd gone flying.

 _Shit, shit, shit. He might as well go home now_.

Rafe stood and straightened out his clothes, brushing himself off. He wiped at a spot of blood that had appeared at the side of his mouth, accidentally having bitten his lip when he landed. "Get to class, Stiles."

"W-what?" Stiles asked, surprised.

"Go to class. I want to talk to you at the end of the day, about _that_ , and... Beacon Hills."

Stiles stood taller at his words and glared.

 _Agent McJerkface had spent_ ** _one month_** _in Beacon Hills and suddenly, two years later, he's decided that he wants more information?!_ Stiles was beginning to doubt he'd ever got into the FBI on his own merit, only because Agent McShit was too scared to do a damn thing for himself. It was a thought he didn't want to dwell on for too long, and he had to remind himself that he was in the FBI, he _belonged here_ now.

"Why don't you look for that in those databases you mentioned?" Stiles sneered, leaving to go to his class.

Along the way, he held the two broken straps of his bag and _believed_ that they would mend. It ended up being crooked as his emotions were still a little over the place, but it was better than nothing.

Rafe sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. "Nice one, Rafe," he muttered to himself. He looked up to the camera in the corner of the lunch room and headed to security. At least he could deal with _that_ in a professional manner.

...

"What are you focusing on, Stilinski? You've barely said a word in an hour; didn't think you could be so quiet."

Stiles looked up at the other recruit, blinking at the sudden adjustment from black text and white paper to bright fluorescent lights and white washed walls. "Uh. Sorry?" he said, realising that it was the woman he'd accidentally spat on on his first day.

She didn't seem offended that he obviously didn't remember her name. "Tomika Jones. If you shorten my name to Tom, I _will_ kick your ass during every sparring session we've got."

Stiles grinned and tried not to laugh too obviously. "Not a problem, Jones. Do I dare ask if you have a cat?"

Tomika rolled her eyes at him. "Shut up. And hurry up, dammit, it's time for lunch. Think Agent McCall will be there again?"

Stiles shrugged. "Probably, he's gotta eat too."

Tomika adjusted her bag and frowned at him slightly. "You don't like him, do you?"

"You can tell?"

"You've got a tell on the side of your mouth. It's small, but obvious if you look hard enough."

"You've been looking at me?"

Tomika rolled her eyes. "You're my competition, of course I am. But don't flatter yourself, you're not my type."

"Who is your type?" Stiles asked, hoping to keep distracting Tomika from the fact that he hadn't answered her initial question.

"Well, do you have a sister?"

"No... _Oh_ , got it. I have friends who have sisters. And some girl friends too, though... I think you with either of them might just be terrifying."

She grinned at him in response. "Now _that's_ my type."

Stiles resolved to _never_ let Tomika meet Cora or Lydia.

Agent McShitstain wasn't at lunch, much to the disappointment of the rest of Stiles' peers. Tomika didn't seem to mind as much as the others, drawing people into conversations instead. As Stiles listened and watched, he noticed that it wasn't just polite small talk; Tomika was gathering information from each person.

The questions were small things like how they liked the weather, what their favourite food was, how long their commute to Quantico took, but it gave surprisingly clear pictures of each of their peers and where they came from. More importantly, Stiles noted that Tomika never seemed to answer the questions herself.

Stiles wondered how much information she'd gathered from him so far, and just what she planned on doing with it.

...

It had been three days and Derek had only had small texts from Stiles with updates on what he was doing at the FBI and how his research was going, but very little about Derek's case with the supposed mass murders he'd comitted. Eventually, after unsuccessfully attempting to distract himself with a hot cup of tea and a book, Derek gave in and rang Stiles' number.

"'Lo?"

Derek looked at the time and winced. He'd forgotten about the time difference and while it was a Saturday, Derek still felt bad for waking Stiles up. "Sorry, Stiles. I'll call back later."

"Der'k? No, wait. 'S'good. Just... shit, one sec," Stiles groaned, sitting up with his body sore and aching and probably bruised from top to toe.

Tomika hadn't been kidding about kicking his ass during sparring ( _he'd called her Tom once by accident, honest!_ ), and Stiles regretted not taking Coach up on extra training sessions for lacrosse over the summer. He was fast and while Stiles could dodge a fist (or a kanima's tail, or a Nogitsune's long fingers reaching out to him), Tomika was just as fast, and she had no qualms about using her full strength to hit him.

"Are you all right?" Derek asked, worried.

"Got my ass handed to me yesterday during sparring. I'm fine otherwise. Well, my pride and ego are hurt as well," Stiles admitted, standing up slowly and testing his limbs gingerly.

The spell and poultice he'd used to help reduce the pain and bruising had worked better than he expected, but they hadn't removed everything, just sped the process up somewhat. He was glad he wasn't blemish-free because that would be difficult to explain to every single person that had seen him get his ass beaten. (There were a lot; it seemed that watching the new recruits beat each other was something of a hobby for the other FBI agents.)

"You're only human."

"Yeah, well, so are they. I think. Tomika and Patrick might not be," he mused, frowning. "I meant to call you about the case yesterday, sorry, Der."

"That's all right," Derek said, more genuine than he expected. He sat down and sighed before asking, "Have you found anything of use, or should I start heading for the border?"

Stiles snorted. "Great, you wait until I leave to get a sense of humour."

Derek looked down at his feet and smiled.

"I haven't found out who's framing you, but I've excluded a few people. Argent's still pretty high on the list," Stiles said, looking to the string and notes he had tacked to one wall.

"Which one?"

"Both Gerard and Kate; they're tied for first in the world's shittiest competition, but, hey, what're you gonna do?" he said, trying for light-hearted and probably not coming across that way in the slightest. Stiles flexed his limbs, hoping to ease his muscles. "I'd frame an innocent person for your hands right now."

"What?"

"Y'know, your magic hands, with the healing thing you do."

"Oh. Right."

It took Stiles a second to realise exactly what he'd said and he wanted to smack himself on the head. "Uh. So... how's things in BH? That hellhound plan working out?"

"Scott and Lydia are dealing with it and the last I heard, Parrish was willing to use himself as bait or mediator, possibly both."

"Ah, good idea. So what've you been up to?"

Derek looked around the loft to the stack of books he'd read, the spotless kitchen he'd cleaned three times in the last two days, the duffel bag still unpacked by the front door. "Not a lot, honestly. I thought I'd be missed, I guess?" he said, scrunching his eyes shut at the admission.

"You were," Stiles replied, his voice soft but certain.

Derek opened his eyes and blinked a few times, trying to determine if Stiles had meant for him to hear that. "I missed you too, Stiles."

Stiles smiled. "Glad to hear it, sourwolf."

...

End of the fourth chapter.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

...

"Talking to the hellhound went better than any of us expected. Deaton modified the spell you sent us; it lasted ten minutes, which was enough to get through to the hellhound. I've sent it back to you so you can see the modifications," Lydia said.

"Parrish did most of the talking, and we found out what came out with us," Scott added.

"So what was it?" Stiles asked, looking from his wall over to the computer screen where he could see Lydia and Scott sitting together.

"Some sort of shadowy _thing_. It was in my chest, dude. The hellhound just kinda reached in there, pulled it out, and then turned into volcanic ash again. Deaton and Parrish are taking him back to Eichen House. Apparently the doctors there have something to destroy or contain the... _thing_."

Stiles blinked. "You didn't notice it was inside you?"

"Well, uh, not really? It's not like I was... uh, never mind," Scott finished abruptly.

Stiles climbed over his bed to sit in front of the computer, and he glared as hard as he possibly could through a camera no bigger than the nail on his pinkie finger. "Just say it, Scott: it's not like you were hunting your loved ones down, trying to kill them, or stabbing them with swords. It happened, and while I would _love_ to forget it, I can't. _Stop pretending_ like none of it happened, okay?"

Scott sighed. "I'll try. It just... it still hurts, y'know?" he said, rubbing at his chest where the sword had pierced him.

Beside him, Lydia rolled her eyes. "You're a werewolf, you healed in an hour. Possibly less, in fact. I wouldn't mind seeing some statistical data on how long different wounds take to heal for a True Alpha. Especially in comparison to a regular Alpha," she added, her head tilted as she looked at Scott curiously.

Scott's eyes widened and he slid away from her.

"Tone down the mad scientist there, Lyds, you're freaking him out," Stiles snickered.

"Oh, calm down. It's not like we've got another Alpha just hanging around, so it's nothing but a useless pipe dream without a proper control group," Lydia said, sighing.

"Um. Okay? I think I... need to go see, uh... Malia for something," Scott said, halfway out of his chair and closer to the door than Lydia in under a second. "Talk later, Stiles!" he called, waving before practically running out the door.

Stiles started laughing at his friend's sudden departure, and Lydia laughed so hard her face turned red. It took them a good three minutes to calm down again, and that was only because Ms. Martin looked in on Lydia to find out what was making her laugh so heartily for the first time in what felt like _years_.

"Oh, hell. That was hilarious. See if Kira can send you a sword or something, just to freak him out," Stiles snickered, wiping at his eyes.

"I'd prefer not to be decapitated, even if it was in the interest of science," Lydia said, though a smile tugged at her mouth. "How's everything going with Agent McCall?"

Stiles winced. "Uh, I kinda... threw him across a room with magic. Accidentally," he added quickly.

"Why? I thought you worked on your control with Deaton before you left?"

"I did. I tend to lose a bit of control if I'm _too_ emotional," Stiles said, rubbing the back of his head and wincing.

Lydia pursed her lips. "Are you working on that?"

"No time, Lyds."

"That's a stupid excuse, Stiles. Meditate when you're in the bathroom and while you're commuting to and from Quantico. If you lose control like that again in front of someone who _doesn't_ want to keep you nearby, it could end badly."

Stiles sighed and nodded. "All right, Lyds. I'll try."

"Do or do not, there is no try," Lydia quoted at him, eyebrow raised.

"Ugh, dammit; don't use Yoda against me! Fine, I'll meditate."

"Good. Now, you're about to have company, so tidy up, would you?" she said, looking to the suitcase that was overflowing with Stiles' clothes.

"Company? Who? And how do you know?"

"Because Derek text me before he left," Lydia replied, then ended the video call abruptly.

Stiles frowned and looked at his phone. _Derek hadn't sent anything to him; maybe he was just leaving town to get a head start after all?_

To Wolf: _Lydia says I should expect you? Are you flying, driving or running?_

Stiles had kind of hoped for a quick answer, but when he didn't receive anything, he set his phone down and started reading through the workbooks he'd been given earlier yesterday before the sparring session. The workbook was full of articles about cases throughout the US and the rest of the world. At the end of each article, the recruits were required to write whether they believed the defendant was guilty or innocent, their reasoning for this answer, and whether or not the jury and/or judge was unbiased and had sentenced these men and women correctly.

He tried to stop himself from going on a tangent, but Stiles had never been great at censoring himself, and he soon found himself taking out his notebook to keep writing. He was a cop's kid, and this was practically his bread and butter. Sure, Stiles knew that his morals weren't exactly set due North, but that didn't mean he didn't recognise injustice when he saw it.

Stiles only stopped when he heard his phone chime with a new text message, and he winced as he re-read the last few pages he'd written. He'd gone off on at least three tangents: the first about private prisons; the second regarding marijuana legality and implications for those in prison for that exact thing; and the third about people of colour who were often innocent of their supposed crimes and yet they were still suspected or incarcerated or beaten or killed, or sometimes all four.

Stiles thought of Boyd, learning to drive outside of Beacon County with Derek in the driver's seat, teaching him patiently. Stiles had been in the back with Erica, their laughter fading over the course of four hours as Boyd was pulled over three times for no reason whatsoever. Boyd had stayed calm, his hands on the steering wheel, and never raised his voice, even when the police officer accused him of ridiculous things that made Stiles' blood boil. In the end, Erica had driven them back to Beacon Hills, while Stiles ranted for an hour in the back. Boyd had just watched him and smiled.

He sighed, shaking his head and wishing he could've done more to save Boyd and Erica.

Remembering that his phone had gone off, Stiles looked away from his workbook and notebook, and unlocked his phone to read the text. His eyes widened.

Wolf: _I flew in. I'll be there in an hour. Maybe less if I can get a cab_.

Stiles hadn't honestly _really_ truly believed that Derek would be coming to Virginia. He was practically stepping into the lion's den, with the lions being the FBI.

Stiles typed a message, then shook his head and deleted it. There was no point asking Derek why he thought this was a good idea: he'd done the same thing when the Sheriff was looking for him, after all.

To Wolf: _I have to harbour your fugitive ass again?_

Wolf: _It's the last place they'd ever look_.

To Wolf: _Yeah, I know. I wouldn't look here either. See you soon_.

Stiles hadn't cleaned as Lydia had instructed, so he started tidying everything and trying to make the tiny shoebox apartment seem larger than it actually was. While Derek probably wouldn't judge him for living here - _he'd lived in an abandoned train station, so glass houses and all that_ \- Stiles figured he could at least make it look nicer than it was.

It didn't take too long to clean, since there wasn't much room for anything anyway. With everything tidy, Stiles took a break from his workbook to look at the wall he'd set up, the list of suspects he had for framing Derek: Gerard Argent, Kate Argent, the Calaveras, Braeden (he wasn't sure what happened between Braeden and Derek, but she might have been angry enough at their relationship ending that she framed him), Peter (just in case)...

There was a knock at the door and Stiles looked at his phone. Forty-five minutes had passed; maybe Derek had managed to get a cab after all.

Stiles opened the door with a smile, his expression fading in an instant. He should have checked through the peephole before answering, because instead of Derek, he was faced with Agent McDildo.

...

End of the fifth chapter.

Author's note: I never knew how much I wanted to end a chapter with 'McDildo' until I wrote this.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

...

"Stiles. Were you expecting someone else?" Rafe asked, seeing his expression fall.

"Food delivery," Stiles lied. "What are you doing here? Do you always make house calls to recruits or is this a special - and creepy - visit, just for me?" he snarked.

They weren't at the FBI, so he didn't have to be nice anymore.

Rafe sighed. "I wanted to apologise."

Stiles' eyes narrowed at that. "For what?"

"I haven't exactly been a great role model as an agent, and I know that if I ever want to have a relationship with my son again, I have to get through you first."

"Yeah, through my dead body, McCall. Just because you saved my life, it doesn't mean I'm forgiving you for _anything_ you've done prior to that."

"I know. I'm not expecting you to. Hell, I don't deserve it. But I know that what I did was wrong and I'm trying to make amends. I'm trying to be a better person and move past that."

"Congratulations, I'll get you a medal engraved with: _trying not to be a dick!_ "

Rafe looked frustrated, but he nodded. "Fine. I'm going to therapy and anger management sessions, so I really am trying. I want to be there for Scott, to see him grow up."

"Do or do not, there is no try," Stiles quoted and Rafe frowned. Before he could say anything, Stiles continued, "As for wanting to see Scott grow up, you already missed that boat _and_ train: he's a grown damn man!"

"You don't think I know that? You think I haven't regretted leaving every single day since I left?!" Rafe snapped, his voice loud and almost enough to draw out Stiles' neighbours.

"Oh, yeah, I _do_ think that, actually. You were in a drunken haze for a good four months, at least, since you missed Scott's seventh birthday party. You promised him that you'd come and you didn't; you broke a promise to a kid, and you _never_ keep your promises! Even when you came back to Beacon Hills two years ago and then left again, you still didn't keep your promise to Scott _then_ either. And you know who has to pick up the pieces every single time? Me."

Rafe clenched his jaw at the reminder of the things he'd done wrong over the years. "I'm trying to rectify that. I understand that you're angry and upset, and you have every right to be. I just... I don't know what else I can do."

"How about _not_ being an asshole? You could start with that," Stiles sneered.

"Look, do you want to take a swing at me? Go on, get even with me, one clear shot," Rafe offered, almost desperately.

Stiles stared in disbelief. Some part of him really did want to, his fist already clenched by his side in anticipation, but he forced himself to relax his hand instead. He shook his head firmly. "No, I'm not like you. You said that you'll have to get through me to get to Scott, and you're a hundred fucking percent correct. But if you think I'll let you anywhere _near_ Scott just so he can be hurt by you again, then in that, you are a hundred and _ten_ fucking percent _wrong_."

With that said, Stiles slammed the door shut in Rafe's face. He locked it, and sat on his bed, his hands shaking and his anger making his whole body tremble.

...

Barely five minutes passed before there was another knock on the door. Stiles let out a growl of annoyance, then opened the door and glared. He was halfway through saying 'go the fuck away' when he realised that it wasn't Agent McJackass, but Derek.

"You have a beard," Stiles said, feeling stupid.

Behind said beard, Derek smiled. "Nice to see you too, Stiles. Were you expecting someone else?" he asked, scenting the tendrils of anger, even though they'd dissipated to shock and happiness already.

"No, Scott's dad's just left. Get your ass inside in case he decides to come back," Stiles said, stepping back and allowing Derek to walk inside.

It was a tight fit and Derek sniffed as the door closed behind him. "I thought I recognised the scent. It was after Mexico, wasn't it?" he asked, sniffing once more.

"Yeah. You couldn't say no to egg rolls," Stiles said, rolling his eyes.

"That's because egg rolls are amazing."

"Everyone knows dim sim are like a thousand times better; do you _want_ to start this argument again?"

"No, I still remember all of your points from last time. It doesn't mean that egg rolls aren't amazing," Derek added, setting his bag on Stiles' bed and looking around curiously. "Already set up, I see," he said, nodding to the walls covered in string and paper.

"Yeah. Keeps me focused; I think I've almost figured your case out," he said, looking to Derek's wall and frowning at it. It felt like he _knew_ the answer, but just needed that last bit of proof that was constantly out of reach. Stiles sighed, scratched his head, then turned his attention back to Derek once more. "Hey, how was your flight?"

"Not bad. I managed to get a flight without too many people, so the smell wasn't as bad as it could have been."

"I need to ask: how did you get on the plane in the first place? Your name and photo's been sent to every airport in the country."

Derek tugged at the beard he'd been growing since returning to Beacon Hills and grinned. "This helped. I stuck close to a family, and a few other people who were on their own. They didn't seem to mind my company," he added with a shrug. "Oh, and Peter left me a stack of fake passports before he left."

Stiles laughed incredulously. "Of course he did. Have you heard from him lately?"

Derek shook his head. "Not for a few weeks. He said he'd be out of range anyway."

"Let me guess: Peter's decided to take up deep-sea diving?" Stiles asked, rolling his eyes.

Derek snorted and shook his head. "Who knows with him?"

Stiles grinned a little and then held his arms out. "It's been five minutes of small talk, reckon I could get a hug now?"

Derek laughed and hugged Stiles close. Stiles still felt a bit shook up from Rafe's unexpected house call, so he clung to Derek a little longer and tighter than he usually would have. They pulled away after a moment, Stiles coughing in embarrassment and stepping back.

"What was McCall here for anyway?" Derek asked.

"Trying to use me to get to Scott," he muttered, sighing.

"Why doesn't he just contact Scott? He's got his phone number, doesn't he?"

"Exactly! He's a coward and he's trying to use me as an excuse so he won't have to talk to Scott himself!"

Derek shook his head. He saw the notebook and workbook sitting on Stiles small laptop desk, the highlighters and pens crowded on the paper. "You've got work to finish?"

"Uh, yeah. I can do it later," Stiles offered.

"I'm not going to be the reason you're kicked out of the FBI. For that _or_ this," he said, indicating to Stiles' notebook and then to the wall behind him. "I need a shower anyway, so I'll leave you to your work," Derek said, smiling.

"All right. The bathroom's tiny and there's no fan, so leave the window open to get rid of the steam. _Death by mould_ isn't exactly what I want on my tombstone," Stiles said.

Derek shook his head and went into the bathroom. Stiles sat down to finish his workbook, resolutely _not_ thinking about Derek naked in his tiny apartment's shower.

"The red towel is a spare; there's just nowhere else to put it," Stiles called, referring to the towel hanging on the back of the bathroom door next to his blue one.

There was a tiny basin with storage, but since Stiles couldn't open the door unless he was sitting on the toilet, he hadn't bothered to keep anything in there. The bathroom door had towels hanging internally, with a shoe organiser on the side facing his kitchenette. Stiles used it to hold his pens, highlighters, string, and box of thumb tacks. He'd also taken to stuffing his clean socks in the compartments to keep them separate from the dirty ones he had in a bag on the floor. Stiles decided Sunday would have to be laundry day.

Sitting at his desk, he started writing the answer to the last article, trying to keep within a single A4 page limit this time. He soon got caught up in the history of the Dreyfus Affair, antisemitism, and the role that both the press and public had over the injustice served.

"Hey, mind if I have a nap? I think the flight affected me more than I realised," Derek said, coming out of the bathroom and rubbing a hand over his face, barely stifling a yawn.

His shirt was a little damp and sticking in places, and had managed to move up above his stomach, revealing a small stretch of skin. Stiles' mouth went dry at the sight and he looked back to his workbook abruptly, hoping that Derek wouldn't comment on the change in his scent.

"Go ahead. There's only the one bed," Stiles said, wincing when he realised that unless one of them became a night owl all of a sudden, they'd probably have to share the bed.

"Thanks, Stiles," Derek said, moving his bag under the bed and collapsing on the mattress.

Stiles forced himself to focus on his work rather than the man sleeping in his bed. If he stood up ten minutes later to find Derek sleeping splayed out across his bed, well, there was no one else in the apartment to see his smile.

...

End of the sixth chapter.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

...

"You've healed up nicely, Stilinski. Guess I won't have to go so easy on you next time," Tomika said, grinning.

"That was _easy?_ " Stiles asked, jaw dropping.

Tomika just laughed.

When they entered the recruit's room, Stiles realised that Patrick was missing. He looked to Tomika, but she shook her head; Patrick was one of five recruits who had either dropped out or been kicked out in the past month since they'd started at the FBI. The initial group of fifteen recruits were slowly being whittled down, and Stiles wondered just how many of them would remain at the end of the next three months.

"You've got your case exercises starting next week, but first, I want your workbooks to be handed in. They'll be checked over tomorrow while you're visiting the Holocaust Memorial Museum," their instructor said, looking at each of them as they handed in their workbooks. He raised an eyebrow at Stiles' workbook and the accompanying notebook.

"Uh, I got really excited about the topics?" Stiles said, trying not to wince.

"The last time you were _really excited_ about something, you spat in my hair," Tomika deadpanned behind him.

Stiles tried not to grin _too much_ , but he could see that Sean didn't look quite so stern anymore either, so he went to his seat without being reprimanded while he could. Tomika sat next to him, stating that she had to save her hair from him.

...

"All right, Hale, we're working this out. There's not enough room for you to be tiptoeing around me for the rest of the night."

"I'm not tiptoeing anywhere," Derek said from the kitchenette, frowning over at Stiles.

"I just _said_ that there wasn't enough room for that," Stiles muttered.

Derek waited a moment, then looked between Stiles and the bed, which they'd shared the night before. "Is this because you were the little spoon?"

Stiles spluttered and choked, even though he wasn't doing more than breathing. Derek raised an eyebrow at him and leaned back against the kitchenette bench, continuing to eat his dinner calmly. Stiles finally stopped spluttering and he glared over at Derek. "This is _not_ about being the little spoon. It's about personal space."

Derek straightened up at that, suddenly looking concerned. "Sorry. I thought... Uh, never mind," he muttered, turning around to rinse out his bowl in the sink.

"It was about being the little spoon," Stiles admitted a second later. "You didn't hear my heartbeat?"

"I didn't listen. I... I didn't think you'd lie." Derek's voice was soft, his shoulders were tense, and his fingers were turning white against the rim of the sink.

Stiles sighed and rubbed a hand over his face, wondering how he'd gone from accusing Derek of murder to _whatever_ _this feeling_ was, aching in his chest. He doubted Derek would appreciate the reminder of the accusations, especially with Stiles' thought board on the wall _right there_. Glancing over to it, he saw the list of names, the names of people who had effectively destroyed Derek's life, year after year, people who hated him for nothing more than him being born. It hit Stiles like a freight train that _of course_ Derek wouldn't want to be the little spoon and see those names. He was already being framed for mass murder, Derek didn't need the reminder staring him in the face. _Lying_ to Derek on top of all that was just the shitty icing on an even shittier cake, and Stiles suddenly hated himself.

Stiles stepped into the kitchenette, resting a hand on Derek's shoulder. He felt the tension ease under his palm and fingers, and moved closer until he was pressed against Derek's back completely. "I'm sorry, Derek. I won't lie to you again."

"Promise?" Derek asked, his voice hardly more than a breath of air, his body still tense.

"Promise," Stiles replied firmly and beneath his body, Derek relaxed. "You sure you don't want to be the little spoon though? We can swap sides," he offered with a brief grin.

Derek shook his head. "I can't protect you then."

"Hey, I can take care of myself!"

Derek snorted. "I've seen you in the morning, Stiles. You can't even get out of bed without almost injuring yourself."

"That's a totally different thing!" Stiles muttered. He could practically feel Derek smiling, and slipped off his back, glad to see the tension gone and his fingers no longer clutching the basin.

Derek turned around and Stiles realised just how close they were standing. Somehow, it was different than it had been a moment ago when Stiles was plastered on Derek's back. Face to face was far more _intimate_ , and Stiles didn't know how to handle that. Especially not when Derek was looking at him so intensely, like this thing between them might not be one-sided after all. Then Stiles forced himself to face reality because he was Stiles and Derek was everything that he wasn't.

Stiles rubbed the back of his head and stepped back, thumbing in indication to his desk. "I've got some things to read over, are you okay to entertain yourself for a while?"

"I brought a book, Stiles. I'll keep myself occupied, don't worry," Derek said, turning around again.

Stiles ensured that Derek was actually going to read before he sat at his desk and started reading through the newest set of articles and books he'd been given that day.

...

Even though he knew he'd read all of the articles and three chapters of his book, it still felt like minutes to Stiles when Derek put a hand on his shoulder.

"Come on, Stiles. It's late; you've got to be up early tomorrow," Derek said, his voice gentle and warm.

Stiles yawned and nodded, letting Derek lead him the few steps to the bed. They settled on the bed, Derek wrapping an arm around Stiles' waist to hold him close. Stiles closed his eyes and dreamed.

Stiles dreams were usually nightmares, but on the odd days when he actually had a dream instead, Stiles usually found himself replaying recent events in his mind, focusing on finer details he consciously missed while awake.

He was sitting in the room with his FBI peers, but as Stiles looked at each of them, he noticed things beyond the usual familiarity of their day to day lives.

Tomika always looked at each person a second before they spoke, her eyes intent on the speaker like she could see more than she could hear. Jorge had a hint of fangs when he smiled too broadly or spoke too passionately. Teresa blinked with a third eyelid when she thought no one was looking. Li shifted a small part of their features each time Stiles looked back at them: blue eyes, green eyes, pink lips, red lips, round ears, pointed ears, short fingernails, long fingernails. Marcie disappeared completely from sight, even though Stiles _knew_ she was still in the room with him.

In his dream, Stiles felt calm, as if he'd known these things about his peers all along. There was nothing wrong with these things happening. They were all recruits, just like him; just because they weren't human, it didn't mean they were monsters.

Stiles felt a detached sense of curiosity as he looked at himself and saw blue sparks surrounding his own body. Stiles had known for years that he was a spark, but he'd never seen himself like _this_ before, even in previous dreams. He felt much more peaceful than he'd been in years, since the darkness, and the Nogitsune and Oni, and the Dread Doctors, and every other shitty nightmarish thing he'd come across since going into the forest to find half of Laura Hale's body.

In his dream, Stiles looked to the rest of his peers, though none of them seems to be shifting or changing or... _reading minds, perhaps?_ The sparks around his body flickered, spraying out towards Tomika, Jorge, Teresa, Li, Marcie, and one more person that Stiles hadn't paid as much attention to: Sean. Now that he was looking at his instructor properly, Stiles saw that the man had bark instead of skin, eyes green and yellow and red like leaves changing colour, and he knew that Sean was a dryad. He still felt peaceful and calm at this revelation, as though he had expected nothing less. Stiles wondered if his life in Beacon Hills was affecting his life in Virginia.

 _Surely this couldn't be real, could it? Not without someone or something bringing them all together at once, at least_.

Stiles felt himself waking up, the call of an alarm or the lure of sunshine or both, interrupting his dream. He blinked his way awake to one thought: _who recruited all of you to the FBI?_

...

Stiles headed to the FBI earlier than usual that day, his mind keeping him awake and on edge. He left Derek on the bed, the werewolf stretching out across the warm spot Stiles had vacated to continue sleeping.

Making it to the FBI building far too early to be allowed into the recruits room, he headed down to the gym instead. There was a boxing bag that he could work up a sweat on and hopefully get faster at dodging Tomika. If nothing else, the exercise should clear his mind.

Stripping down to his singlet and shorts, Stiles shoved his clothes in his bag. He grabbed a pair of gloves and pulled them on, tightening the straps around his wrists. He stood in front of the bag and breathed in deeply, hoping to keep his calm and meditative state from the trip into Quantico - Lydia would know if he hadn't at least attempted to meditate; she _always_ knew. Stiles lifted his fists and started to punch and hit and kick at the bag.

"You're here early," a voice commented from the doorway.

Stiles ignored McBastard and continued to punch the bag instead. Rafe ignored Stiles ignoring him and headed over, setting his jacket aside and rolling up his sleeves. He grabbed the punching bag as it swung towards him, holding it steady for Stiles to continue punching. Still, Stiles ignored him and continued to punch, driving his fists into the bag far more firmly.

"Imagining someone's face on there?" Rafe asked with a soft grunt as he was pushed back by a strong punch.

Stiles grit his jaw, stopped punching, and glared at Rafe. "No. See, I know the difference between a punching bag and a person."

"Don't act so high and mighty with me, Stilinski. We're more alike than you realise."

Stiles had a sudden fear that McJerkoff knew about Donovan, but he refused to acknowledge the comment. They were _nothing_ alike.

"We'd both do anything to protect those we love and care about," Rafe added.

"Yeah, well you have a fucking _shit_ way of showing it! And I'm _nothing_ like you: beating up kids isn't protecting anyone," Stiles snapped.

Rafe's jaw clenched. "It was a mistake, and it's one I'll have to live with for the rest of my life. Leaving was the only way I could protect them."

After everything with the Nogitsune and Donovan, Stiles unfortunately knew the feeling.

Rafe mistook Stiles' silence for anger and continued, desperately, "If I could go back in time, I wouldn't do it. I'd do _anything_ but hurt my son again."

Looking at Rafe's face, the emotions he recognised in his eyes from the same expression he'd seen in the mirror, Stiles almost believed him.

"Hey, Stilinski! C'mon, we're heading out," Tomika called from the doorway.

Stiles looked away from Rafe and lifted a hand in thanks to Tomika. He pulled his gloves off, grabbed his bag, and left without looking back.

...

End of the seventh chapter.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

...

Rafe looked through the workbooks that Sean had given to him to check the recruits' handiwork. He'd already read through five workbooks, three providing answers they _thought_ wanted to be heard, one that seemed to be relaying thoughts that other people had rather than thinking for themselves, while the fifth was a little more passionate about certain topics.

He picked up the next workbook but his hand stopped when he saw the handwriting. He'd seen enough of Stiles' work to realise that the workbook and notebook belonged to him, but set them aside to check last. Rafe had a feeling he'd need all of his wits to get through them.

When the second-to-last workbook was checked, Rafe stood and stretched, leaving his office to get a coffee before he went any further. He didn't admit to procrastination itself, but coffee breaks were a necessary evil in life, so if Rafe had two or three coffee breaks a day, he would consider it a mental break if nothing else. Certainly not procrastination.

With his coffee mug washed and dried, there was nothing else to do but check Stiles' work. Rafe inhaled deeply to calm himself, as his therapist had instructed, and headed back to his office.

...

The Holocaust Memorial Museum had Stiles swinging between complete and utter hatred of the human race and the _things_ they did to each other, to wanting to protect every last human from everything, including themselves.

Stiles felt small and insignificant, his heart pounded in his chest, his hands shook, and there was a heavy lump in his throat. He would have felt utterly ridiculous if not for the fact that his peers looked in similar states of shock and awe. They were all quiet, whispering as they made their way through the exhibitions and displays, the lists of names and numbers of the dead, the murdered innocents and victims.

"Humans are idiots, huh?" Tomika muttered beside him, her voice shaky.

Stiles nodded, trying to be subtle about wiping his tears and probably failing. Tomika smiled sadly and dug in her messenger bag to pull out a pack of tissues.

"Don't worry. I've been here before and I still get choked up about it. The Martin Luther King, Jr. Memorial destroys me," she added, barely a second after Stiles had thought about their second field trip later that week.

"You're a telepath?" he asked, his voice quieter than a whisper, not wanting to raise his voice for a multitude of reasons.

Tomika raised an eyebrow at the question, but shook her head firmly. "Later, Stilinski."

"Have either of you seen Marcie? She's disappeared," Grant said, looking anxious.

While they weren't children, they were still meant to have a 'buddy' to encourage friendship and camaraderie between them.

 _It probably also saved Sean from looking after twenty people when they could look after each other instead_ , Stiles mused, giving up and just wiping at his tears with the offered tissue.

"I haven't seen her. She might be in the bathroom," Stiles suggested.

Grant nodded in thanks and headed towards the bathrooms.

"Come on, there's seats over here," Tomika said, leading Stiles through the exhibition areas to a quiet nook with a padded seat.

He sat down gratefully, sighing as he looked at the exhibition across from them.

"Banshee," Tomika admitted after a long moment of silence.

" _What?!_ " Stiles asked, eyes wide and voice far too loud for the museum. He ignored a few people who looked over to glare at him, and stared at Tomika, the _banshee._

She shrugged. "It wouldn't have been my first choice, but I didn't get to choose. My Gram taught me everything she knew since we realised what I was."

A million questions were running through Stiles' mind, but he could only bring himself to ask, "What got you interested in joining the FBI?"

"I thought I'd be able to help people. Besides, the invitation was pretty convincing."

"Wait, what invitation?"

"You didn't get one?"

"No. Did everyone get one?" Stiles asked, looking down the corridor to where most of their peers were; Grant had found Marcie, he noticed.

"I know Patrick did. Marcie, Li, Teresa, and I think Jorge as well. The rest of the group are human, as far as I can tell. I thought... I thought you'd get an invitation since, y'know, _you know_ ," Tomika said, frowning.

Stiles shook his head. "Nope; I just applied and hoped I'd get into the program."

Tomika's frown turned into a grin and she bumped his shoulder. "Well, someone up there must like you."

Stiles nodded briefly, his stomach feeling like lead, because he was ninety-eight percent positive that Rafe was the reason he had been accepted into the FBI, and it sure as fuck wasn't because the man _liked_ him.

...

"Hank, have you figured it out yet?" Rafe asked as soon as the man picked up the phone.

"Not yet, sir."

"Why not? It's a code and you're a code-breaker, aren't you?" Rafe snapped, frustrated.

"Well, yes, but it's unlike anything I've ever seen before. I've decoded a few letters, but not enough to create full words, and I've run it through every program we have," Hank replied, sounding just as frustrated as Rafe, but entirely more impressed as well.

"You have fifteen hours to work it out," Rafe said, hanging up the phone.

Hank winced and put his phone down, returning to the notebook of one Stiles Stilinski.

Symbols were scrawled alongside runes, words written in archaic _and_ classical Latin, numbers and Roman numerals, a scattering of Japanese and Spanish, weather icons for rain and clouds and lightning, nestled in closely with crude drawings of trees and flowers, beakers and syringes, cats and a theatrical mask (only tragedy, never comedy), and a curved triskelion repeated more often than not. It was all written in different colours, which obviously had some sort of significance as well, some of the triskelions in blue while others were black and there were a few scatterings of orange.

The sum of it all was that Hank was about to have one hell of a challenge on his hands. He couldn't wait.

...

When Stiles returned to his apartment later that evening, he was emotionally exhausted. He'd texted Derek during the day to let him know how things were going, and that he'd be too wiped when he returned to even _think_ about cooking dinner. Derek had replied that he'd take care of it, and Stiles came home to a small smorgasbord of food.

 _Or perhaps his apartment was just_ ** _that_** _small that it looked like a buffet?_

"What _didn't_ you order?" Stiles asked, his stomach growling and mouth watering at the sight and smell.

"Seafood. It doesn't taste the same," Derek said, wrinkling his nose.

Stiles grinned and set his bag down. "Fine by me."

Derek passed him a plate and sat on the floor, filling his own plate with food. "How was your day? You smell upset."

"Yeah, that kinda sums it up," Stiles said, reaching for the dim sim and nudging the egg rolls closer to Derek. "It was upsetting and I still feel out of it. Though I found out that Tomika's a banshee."

"Really?"

Stiles nodded, dunking his dim sim in the sweet and sour sauce before taking a generous bite. "Oh, faf's goo'," he said through a mouthful.

"Don't talk with your mouth full; you weren't raised by wolves," he said, grinning.

Stiles pointed at him, his cheeks bulging, and forced himself to chew and swallow. "What did I say about getting a sense of humour?!"

Derek just laughed, and in response, Stiles stared.

 _He hadn't seen Derek laugh like this before and he was_ ** _beautiful_** _. More than what he looked like, Derek was beautiful both inside and out, and Stiles hated that some people couldn't see past his outer beauty to see the wonderful man inside. Derek didn't deserve so much that had happened in his life - both packs taken from him, people hunting and hurting him, people abusing and using him - and despite everything that had happened, he was still an amazing and wonderful and good person_.

Derek stopped laughing after a moment and took an egg roll, his cheeks pink and warm. "Come on, eat up or I'll wolf it down," he said, snickering at his own joke.

"I see how it is: the big bad wolf's got _dad jokes_ ," Stiles said, forcing himself to grin and not get so caught up in his head and emotions.

"You laughed," Derek said, raising an eyebrow pointedly, still looking so _happy_.

Stiles nodded and shoved the rest of his dim sim in his mouth so he wouldn't ruin whatever _this_ was.

A month or two after Braeden helped Malia with the Desert Wolf, Derek had returned to Beacon Hills. He hadn't said much about why he was returning, nor for how long, but there was a handshake between Derek and the Sheriff that made Stiles suspicious. Derek had dinner at the Stilinski residence weekly and spent time with people beyond the pack. He had a regular running routine around town that Parrish often joined him on (after a week or so of being followed by the 'yummy mummies' in town, they both decided to change their route to the woods instead); he started cooking and bringing containers full for Melissa when Scott was out with Kira or busy with pack business; and after the first full moon since his return, Derek had started showing up to the Stilinski's outside of their usual dinner, armed with a movie, pizza, and books from the Hale vault.

Stiles had seen another one of those handshakes between his father and Derek, frowning when it went on for a second too long, his frown deepening when Derek pulled away with a white fingerprint impression on his hand. Something obviously wasn't right, but Derek had _finally_ brought the book about emissary's and besides, there was pizza and movie to consider. Stiles didn't know what to think of it then - or now, to be honest - and any time he tried to question his father, the Sheriff just shook his head and didn't respond. Stiles didn't even _try_ to question Derek.

Stiles was startled out of his thoughts by Derek poking him in the shoulder. "You're thinking too much," was all that Derek said, then shifted closer to Stiles so he could get to the pizza.

He didn't move away once he had his slice, as Stiles had expected, and taking comfort in Derek's warmth and presence beside him, Stiles leaned against his shoulder. They kept talking and eating throughout the night, and when it was later than either of them realised, they packed up the last of the food into containers, Derek taking the pizza boxes out to the bin while Stiles changed into his pyjamas and did his teeth.

Derek returned, finished his own nightly routine, and climbed into the bed, wrapping his arms around Stiles' stomach, his breath warm against his neck.

Maybe _this_ wasn't as one-sided as Stiles had originally thought.

...

End of the eighth chapter.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

...

"Stiles, it's Scott. I don't want you to be dragged back into this, but I promised I'd tell you what was going on, so... Talking with the hellhound wasn't enough. That shadowy thing he took out of my chest apparently wasn't what he was meant to get and he's escaped Eichen to find whatever it was.

"Deaton's not sure, but he thinks something else might be inside of me. I mean, I'm happier that it's me and not anyone else, but... I have to be at UC Davis next week and I can't be there if I'm dead, dude.

"But don't worry! Lydia and the rest of the pack are going to protect me, so we'll be totally fine. If you've got any spells or knowledge you can send our way, I think that'd help. Malia's upset that she can't go to France again, so if you've got something to help protect me from a pissed off werecoyote, that'd be great too.

"Uh, call me when you get this message, okay?"

...

"Tomika? Uh, Jones? Hello?" Stiles said, waving a hand in front of her face. She didn't respond and Stiles frowned, then sighed. "You're going to hurt me for this, but... Tom!"

Tomika snapped out of her daze and looked up at him, glaring. "Do I really need to kick your ass again, Stilinski?"

"Uh, no? The ass-kicking isn't necessary!" he added quickly, hands held up in a gesture of peace. "You've been staring at the wall for five minutes without blinking. Everything okay?"

Tomika's eyes widened and she looked from Stiles to her notebook. She flipped through the pages, each one full of text that she hadn't written, despite the words being in her handwriting.

"Whoa, how'd you do that?" Stiles asked, seeing the pages full of ink, but not wanting to look too closely in case it was private.

"Mental projection, focuses the things I hear or see. It's _usually_ clearer than this," Tomika added distractedly, frowning as she tried to figure out what she'd written.

Stiles looked at the notebook then, his curiosity overcoming him, and he stopped Tomika's hand from turning the page again. She looked at him, still frowning, but Stiles was focused on the words, and he turned the notebook sideways so they could both read them properly. Two words had been written, over and _over_ and **over** , the font darkening with each repetition.

" _Beacon Hills?_ Isn't that where Hale was born?" Tomika asked, frowning.

Stiles didn't respond, grabbing his phone out of his bag and bolting out of the classroom. He almost knocked into Sean and Rafe on his way past, but didn't stop or apologise, running for the door outside to call _everyone_.

Rafe looked to Sean and nodded for him to continue to the classroom, the recruits' workbooks in hand. He followed after Stiles, putting up a hand to placate security, who were anxious about someone running through the FBI when they didn't know why.

"I'll deal with it," Rafe said, the security officers nodding and heading back to their posts.

...

Stiles' hands shook as he turned on his phone. He didn't even get a chance to call or text anyone because he had a missed call from Scott. Stiles played the voicemail and as he listened to it, he slid down against the wall of the building as his knees gave way.

"Shit, shit, shit," Stiles muttered to himself, then ended the voicemail and immediately called his father.

"Stiles, is everything all right?" the Sheriff asked. "It's past nine there, aren't you meant to be inside already?"

"Uh, yeah. I'm fine, Pops. Scott called me. The hellhound escaped Eichen and is probably going to hunt him down, and it sounds like he's fine, but he's not. One of the recruits here is a banshee and she's been writing _Beacon Hills_ like crazy. Something's going down and it's bigger than Scott realises... I've got to come back," Stiles breathed out, running a hand through his hair.

There was a moment of silence as the Sheriff tried to work out what Stiles had actually said. "We don't know what the threat is, Stiles. Parrish can talk to the hellhound again and see what's happening. He cooperated last time, so he should this time as well. I don't want you giving up on your dream; you'll regret it for the rest of your life, son."

"No, the only thing I'll regret is if everyone dies and I could've done something to stop it! I can't let that happen. I'll just apply for the program again next year. This is an emergency and it's my family, _my pack_. I can't, I can't..." Stiles struggled to find the words. "I won't _survive_ this, Pops. Not like Derek did. I won't go through it and, despite everything, come out a better person. We both know that."

Stiles closed his eyes tightly as he thought of the Nogitsune, the thoughts and memories he still had in his brain, pushed as far back as possible. He knew that if anything happened to his family, his friends, _his pack_ , then all of the thoughts and memories would bubble to the surface in an instant. The Nogitsune's knowledge of what to do to hurt, to maim, and to kill, and more importantly, how to make it _last_. Stiles knew that he would do all of that and more - destroy even more than the Nogitsune ever had - but it would be worse this time because **_he_** would be the one doing it; the Nogitsune wouldn't be there to blame.

He breathed in a shuddering breath, trying to keep himself under control, forcing himself to meditate in this moment of silence so he wouldn't do anything stupid anyway.

The Sheriff was silent for a moment longer. "Give us forty-eight hours before you make any rash decisions. If we can't solve it by then, then you do what you need to do. Okay?"

"You think I'll last forty-eight hours? Twenty-four," Stiles bargained.

"Thirty-six. That's a day and a half, which isn't as much time as you or the rest of the pack have taken to solve these things," the Sheriff pointed out.

Stiles winced, remembering the whole month with the Darach; even the nogitsune had been around for a solid week. But it was different now that Stiles wasn't there. "Thirty-six hours, then I'm coming back."

"I'll let you know how it goes, okay?"

"Thanks, Pops. Love you."

"Love you too," the Sheriff replied, hanging up and immediately calling Melissa.

Stiles sighed and looked out at the view. He was already late and most likely in trouble for running out without an explanation, so he figured he'd take the extra time to at least _try_ to calm down. Noise and movement caught Stiles' attention and he startled violently, swearing when someone stepped around the side of the building. "What the shit?! Are you following me now?!" he snapped, heart beating wildly as he glared up at Agent McDickwad.

Rafe ignored his outburst and looked down at Stiles for a long moment before crouching and sitting beside him; close enough to be heard, but not to be hit by... _whatever_ it was Stiles had done to him last time. _Well, he hoped he wasn't close enough, at least_. "What is a hellhound and why is it hunting my son?"

Stiles' blood ran cold.

...

End of the ninth chapter.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

...

Stiles considered his options: 1) run away, possibly have to move to another country to avoid McDouchebag for the rest of his life, 2) lie and play it off as a joke, and never have McAsswipe (or the people who would believe the FBI agent over a new recruit) believe him ever again, or 3) tell McCall the truth.

Rafe waited, looking as though he had all the time in the world.

Stiles thought about the things he'd discovered since he'd come to the FBI: five recruits in his group weren't human and had been sent invitations to join; Stiles himself had been accepted, despite his less-than-stellar academic career in his senior year; McCall's repeated efforts to show how he'd changed and _was_ changing.

Now McCall was waiting patiently for an explanation. He wasn't threatening anyone to get them, or looking at Stiles like he was crazy.

Stiles remembered the agent shooting the Chemist to save him, probably hearing half of the Chemist's rant and not understanding the what or how or why, but still saving Stiles anyway. He had a sudden epiphany that _that_ was what McCall had been trying to do every single day since leaving his family and sobering up: _save people_.

 _Like father, like son_ , he thought, a little amused.

Stiles would have never thought to compare the two, to even _think_ that Agent McBallsack could be _half_ the person Scott was, but maybe he really was trying.

Still, there was a difference between _trying_ to be a good person, _being_ a good person, and actually _believing_ someone about everything that had happened in the last five years. Especially so when the things that had happened to Stiles and his friends were so far beyond belief that there were days _he_ could believe them to be a prolonged nightmare.

Stiles looked away from Rafe and back to the view, licking his lips and spinning his phone in his hands nervously. "Scott was bitten by a werewolf five years ago..."

...

Rafe hadn't honestly expected an explanation. He'd thought that Stiles would cling to his hatred of him - _still deserved, he knew that, even if he was..._ _ **doing**_ _better, no longer_ _ **trying**_ \- and would refuse to say a thing. To his surprise, Stiles started talking instead.

Rafe listened to every single word, watching Stiles as he animated his words with his hands at the start, then continuing on to his shoulders dropping, his expression becoming far more serious than Rafe had ever seen before.

Stiles glossed over some details, probably left more unsaid than said, and skirted a few topics completely. Despite that, Stiles not only confirmed Rafe's suspicions about Beacon Hills and Scott, but also told him more things than he probably would have liked to know.

The notes in Stiles' notebook started to make more sense the more Rafe listened. Hank had managed to decode three words out of the pages and pages that Stiles had written: moon, Mexico, and _dog?_ Hank still didn't know if the last word was correct since it seemed to have a different connotation, and Rafe suddenly knew that Stiles really meant _werewolf_. He felt as though someone had just sucker-punched him with a sledgehammer.

They both sat in silence for a long time, Stiles sitting with his head resting between his knees as he tried to calm down from reliving memories that were on par with the lives of some of the toughest war-torn PTSD soldiers. _Bullets and bombs versus fangs and death_. Vaguely, Rafe wondered how Stiles had managed to pass his psych test.

Thinking about Stiles' phone call to his father, Rafe thought about how he could present this particular case to the higher-ups without being seen as insane. There were only a few ways to deal with something like this in a legal fashion and while the recruits were still green, it could be spun into a training exercise of sorts.

Rafe stood up slowly, not wanting to startle Stiles and get thrown back again ( _which was done with magic, apparently?!_ ). Once he had Stiles' attention again, Rafe stood up completely and offered his hand to the younger man. They looked at each other for a second that felt as though it lasted an eternity, but then Stiles took his hand and Rafe lifted him up to his feet.

"I presume you can contact Hale?" Rafe asked. Stiles didn't answer, but he didn't expect one, so he simply continued, "How fast can he get here? We have a day and a half to train the rest of the recruits, and Hogan's Alley will be perfect."

"Wh-what?"

"You honestly think I'm going to let Scott - or anyone he cares about - to be hurt when I have the means to help? I know you think I'm a complete bastard, but I **do** care about my son. I'll discuss the training with Sean," Rafe said, brushing his clothes off.

"McCall," Stiles said, drawing his attention _immediately_ because Rafe was pretty sure that was the first time he'd called him by his actual name since he was six years old. "Don't think that this is going to get you into my good books. You might be helping now, but that means shit-all with your past actions."

Rafe clenched his jaw and nodded. He hadn't expected to be immediately forgiven, but surely doing this would go _some_ way towards making Stiles realise he wasn't the same person he'd been when he and Scott were younger?

"Oh, and since you and I _both_ know that Derek didn't kill those people, you can drop the case against him now, right?" Stiles said, arms folded across his chest. It wasn't a question.

Rafe nodded. "I'll let the relevant people know that we have verified Hale's whereabouts on those dates of the murders."

"How did you get that information about the murders anyway?"

"Anonymous tip. The call was traced back to Beacon Hills," Rafe added.

Stiles frowned. _That removed three suspects from his list, at least_. He wished he was in front of his wall so he could change the string and cross off names. "Oh, one more thing?"

Rafe nodded and waited, curious as to what else Stiles could possibly want or say.

"If _anyone_ hurts Derek, I want an hour's head start before anyone comes after me," Stiles said.

" _Excuse me?_ " Rafe blinked, not quite sure he'd understood Stiles correctly.

"I'm not bringing Derek in to the FBI just to have him hurt or taken away. If that happens, I will not be responsible for my actions."

Rafe had faced down hardened criminals and terrorists, yet he'd never felt a chill of fear run through him like he did right then. "I'll make sure Hale isn't harmed."

Stiles nodded and waited until Rafe returned inside before sighing and flicking through his phone contacts to _wolf_. He could only hope that Derek would agree to help.

...

Hogan's Alley was a town built by the FBI to train their recruits. It had the usual storefronts and exterior of an normal everyday town. Usually actors were used to simulate criminals and terrorists, and the recruits were required to shoot them with paintball guns without harming the actor civilians. Today the recruits' training was going to involve a werewolf.

Derek cracked his neck, shifting his features as he did so, fangs slipping out, eyes filtering to blue, and his claws protruding.

Grant fainted. Beside him, Marcie rolled her eyes.

"Doing okay, big guy?" Stiles asked beside Derek, his voice soft yet firm.

Derek nodded, not taking his eyes off the recruits and the two FBI agents that were there: Sean and Rafe. He could scent all of their emotions, the fear, disbelief, wariness, curiosity, amazement. Derek focused on Stiles' emotions instead: calm, steady, and unafraid. Stiles was a little tense beside him, his scent and body language screaming that he would fight every last person if they even tried to come near Derek, let alone hurt him. Derek wondered if Stiles even realised that his fingertips were lit with tiny blue sparks.

"Can we approach?" Rafe asked Stiles, his hands clenched and deep in his pockets. He'd barely resisted the urge to get his weapon out, but Rafe reminded himself that Hale was on their side. Shooting an ally wasn't exactly a way to gain their trust.

"Ask Derek; he can still talk and hear you," Stiles said, nodding to Derek.

"All right. But keep your hands away from your gun," Derek said.

Rafe nodded and stepped forward slowly until he was an arm's length away from Derek.

"We've only got a day and a half, McCall; can you speed it up a little here?" Stiles snarked, voice low so the other recruits wouldn't hear him berating the agent.

"You don't look as... hairy as I expected," McCall admitted, frowning.

"Hollywood," Stiles supplied. "I still haven't worked out what happens to his eyebrows."

Rafe blinked, looked up, and then nodded. "Huh." He seemed to realise himself a moment later, then coughed. "Right. Obviously, you're not feral, but what... do you _do?_ " he asked, at a complete loss for how to continue now that there was an honest-to-god _werewolf_ standing in front of him.

"I'm between jobs at the moment, but Halloween is coming up, so..." Derek shrugged.

Beside him, Stiles snickered into his fist. "Dude, stop being a dork, and go do your thing. I'll get them up to speed."

"Don't call me dude," Derek said, but he grinned and started off at a slow jog towards Hogan's Alley.

"Werewolves have heightened senses, so they're difficult to trap and hunt down. Not impossible, unfortunately," Stiles added in a low mutter. "Marcie, see if you can find him," he said, throwing a paintball gun to her and winking.

Marcie caught the gun and grinned broadly. She headed into Hogan's Alley, her body turning invisible as she stepped through a doorway.

...

End of the tenth chapter.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

...

The FBI agents and recruits watched on the feed from the cameras set up around Hogan's Alley. Derek led Marcie on a merry chase through several buildings, over rooftops, even going so far as to scale the walls. He could tell that Marcie was behind him, or to the side, or even trying to sneak up from overhead, and every time, Derek's sense of smell was strong enough to alert him to an attacker he couldn't see or sometimes hear.

The recruits watched as Derek led Marcie out of a building and to Hogan's Alley, looping around until he was the one behind her. Marcie's invisibility affected her clothes and things she held, but she left footprints in the sand with every step. She stopped, scanning the street and trying to determine where Hale had gone. Stiles heard several people hold their breath as Derek crept up behind Marcie, lighter on his feet than most would assume. Derek tagged Marcie and she screamed in surprise, turning visible again as she spun around to face him. Derek had her paintball gun in a heartbeat, and Marcie was alone and unarmed.

"Shit," she swore under her breath, putting her hands up.

Sean pressed a button on the flat panel, an intercom turning on in Hogan's Alley. "Come on back, Marcie. Hale, hide for the next recruit."

Derek grinned and handed Marcie the paintball gun back. "Good try, Marcie. Keep an eye out for sand and dust," he said, nodding to the set of footprints she'd left.

Marcie watched as he jogged off, then headed back to where the others were waiting, muttering under her breath about being betrayed by her own damn feet.

"Who's next?" Sean asked, looking to the other recruits.

"I'll go," Tomika said, taking a paintball gun from the table.

Marcie returned and set aside her paintball gun in favour of watching the screens intently.

While Marcie had been silent as she tracked Derek, Tomika didn't bother to mask her footfalls. She seemed to be stomping through the town, in fact. Stiles watched, his head tilted to the side as he tried to figure out what she was doing. Tomika held her gun up at all times, never letting her guard down. She stopped in one spot and stomped in a fast succession, then turned abruptly and took her shot. Paint splattered across a window, Derek's figure darting past in the same instant.

"Holy shit. She's using the vibrations," Stiles breathed, eyes wide.

"What do you mean?" Rafe asked, not taking his eyes off the screens.

"Banshees can predict death by listening to vibrations; Tomika's using the vibrations to find Derek instead."

"But that's alerting him to her position," Sean said with a frown.

"If she's going to do what I think she's going to do, then that won't be a problem," Stiles said.

Derek would have been able to tell that Tomika was a banshee, even if Stiles hadn't told him, because the scent of death that usually hung around Lydia was _draped_ around Tomika like a cloak. She couldn't have hidden from him if she'd tried. Then Derek realised that Tomika wasn't _trying_ to hide, since she was stomping her way through Hogan's Alley. He frowned when she stopped and while Tomika was distracted by her stomping, Derek ran past the building, a paintball splattering where his head had been half a second ago.

He came to the same conclusion as Stiles had, and ran faster and deeper into the town. Derek knew that he wouldn't be able to hide or run for long, so he'd have to fight. When he'd found the building he needed, Derek went inside to wait for Tomika. He climbed to the rafters, watching the doorway intently. He wasn't entirely sure that this plan would work, but it was better than nothing.

Tomika stomped a few times before opening the door, her gun trained on the open space in front of her. Hale was nowhere to be seen, but that didn't mean she was going to let her guard down. Tomika stepped through the warehouse slowly, using reflections from windows to look behind cabinets and around doorways. Derek wasn't there.

Hearing a shifting noise above her head, Tomika looked up, saw Hale, and let out a banshee wail, knowing she wouldn't be able to stop his attack with a paintball gun alone. Her wail reverberated off the walls and careened straight back at her, knocking her onto her ass. Tomika took a moment to gather herself and looked up to see Hale still sitting on the rafter and blocking his ears tightly.

"You okay?" Derek called down, unblocking his ears when he saw that Tomika was standing once more.

She nodded. "A little dizzy, but it'll pass."

"Tomika, come on back," Sean's voice came over the intercom. "Hale, how about we see some of your skills now? You can be the one to hunt the next recruit."

"Good luck," Tomika said to Derek.

He nodded, jumped down from the rafters, and left the warehouse without looking back.

Tomika slipped the gun strap up over her neck, keeping the gun pressed against her back as she headed back to where the other recruits were waiting. "Where's Stiles?" she asked, seeing that he wasn't with the rest of the group.

"It's his turn," Rafe replied, nodding to the screens.

...

Stiles made his way through the building, heading upstairs for a higher vantage point. He heard footsteps and looked out a window to see Tomika jogging past. Stiles kept his gun up and trained around the corners as he continued up the stairs.

Reaching the top floor without encountering Derek, Stiles took a slim bag from his pocket.

In the six months before he'd left Beacon Hills, Stiles had trained his spark with Deaton. He'd found that Deaton's lessons weren't exactly the great magical experience he'd been expecting; it wasn't that he'd been expecting magic _a la_ Harry Potter, but at the same time, he was definitely hoping for _something_ on that scale. Instead, Deaton's lessons all seemed to focus on inward reflection, belief and, most of all, _quiet_ , which was definitely not Stiles' strong point.

Before he'd left, Stiles had stolen (borrowed, really) and copied Deaton's books for himself, certain that the Druid hadn't told him everything he needed to know, as per usual. Spending most of his spare time reading the books, Stiles had discovered that he was correct. When he'd finished reading those, his mind buzzing with information, he then went on to find more online. What he'd found was certainly more than the _quiet_ Deaton had professed as the be-all and end-all of his magical lessons. Stiles had even learnt how to make his own mountain ash, and today was the first time he was using it with an actual werewolf. He hoped it worked.

Emptying a few grains of mountain ash into his palm, Stiles breathed and let the ash trickle down to the floor, believing that it would encircle and move with him. Exhaling slowly, he opened his eyes to see that the ash had settled into a perfect circle around his body. Stiles took an experimental step forward and the ash moved forward as well, the full circle still intact. Stiles grinned, only refraining from doing a fist pump when he remembered that there were cameras everywhere. Walking along the top floor, Stiles kept his paintball gun in hand and looked out for Derek.

Derek separated out the old and new scents as he walked through the alley, ignoring Marcie and Tomika's scents for the fresher scent: _Stiles_. He found the building Stiles had taken refuge in easily enough, and spotted him at the window of the top floor. The top floor was obviously meant to represent a skyscraper since it was built completely from glass. It also afforded one of the better vantage points from all of the buildings within Hogan's Alley.

Walking in would be too easy, and he knew that Stiles would have prepared something for that, so Derek went the long way instead. Weaving his way through houses, shops, and offices, he sniffed and listened every so often to ensure that Stiles was still in the same building and level. When he reached the building next to Stiles' one, Derek went straight up to the roof, a mere floor above the building next to it, and jumped across.

Landing lightly, Derek stopped, listened and sniffed. There was no indication that Stiles had heard him, no increased heartbeat or sudden scent of fear or surprise. Derek opened the door leading down to the top floor and made his way down into the darkness.

Aiming for the element of surprise, Derek charged out of the doorway, snarling and claws raised. Stiles was standing at a window, and turned around, eyes wide as he lifted his gun. Derek didn't get close enough, as he was thrown back a few metres after hitting the mountain ash barrier. He shook his head and looked at Stiles, who was moving forward, the ash moving with him.

"How are you doing that?" Derek asked, surprised.

Stiles lowered his gun and looked down, then shrugged. "I believed it would work."

Derek nodded, impressed. Figuring the hunt was over, Stiles held his hand out and let the grains of mountain ash return to his palm. Scooping them back into his bag, he wiped off his hand and then held it out to Derek. Derek grinned and took it, letting Stiles pull him up off the ground.

"Uh, I think I won this one; can we go in as a group now? We're running out of time, and this isn't going to be anything like the real thing if others turn up. Tomika won't have been the only banshee to get the message," Stiles called out.

There was silence for a long moment, then the intercom turned on. "Agreed. Everyone will be hunting Hale," Sean confirmed.

Stiles clapped Derek on the shoulder and grinned. "Good luck, sourwolf."

"You too."

...

"We talked to the hellhound again. Well, Parrish did," Scott amended. "He thinks that the thing that escaped with us isn't in Beacon Hills anymore," Scott said, pacing back and forth in the Sheriff's office.

The Sheriff frowned. "What does that mean?"

Scott finally stopped pacing and looked to the Sheriff, looking anxious.

"You don't mean?" the Sheriff trailed off, paling.

"It's in Stiles."

...

End of the eleventh chapter

Author's note: dun, dun, duuuuuun.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

...

"My friends don't have a lead, so I'm heading home to help. I'm going at the end of the week," Stiles added, a little annoyed about it.

It was the condition that the Sheriff had set in an effort to get Stiles _not_ to quit the FBI program, and hopefully return to Quantico for the Monday morning. He could understand the reasoning, but Stiles was anxious to get to Beacon Hills sooner rather than later.

"Agent Mc- uh... McCall is coming with me, and he's organising for some of his team to come as well. I don't expect any of you to come with me, and it could be dangerous, but... this is what being in the FBI is all about: helping people, and I think it could be good experience - "

"Just shut up already, Stilinski. You think we've spent the better part of two days getting our asses handed to us by a werewolf so we can go back to _regular_ training now? We're in," Tomika said, smirking.

"Do you think we'll get to use an official FBI van? I hear they're bulletproof," Li said, grinning.

"Yeah, 'cause _that_ won't look suspicious. We're going there inconspicuously, okay? Besides, flying is faster. Unless anyone knows how to teleport?" Stiles asked curiously, looking to the group.

"I don't think that's possible, Stilinski."

"You can turn invisible, Marcie," Stiles replied pointedly, arms folded across his chest.

"Instead of a squad of highly qualified FBI agents, I get children," Sean muttered, not quite under his breath, rubbing his temples.

Stiles would have argued that point, but then their official FBI Kevlar vests arrived, and... _well, even Sean had to be excited about_ ** _that_** _when he was a new recruit, right?!_

...

Rafe and Derek walked through the FBI office, Derek half a step behind Rafe and trying not to look _too_ amused at the expressions of shock on the various FBI employees faces.

Not only was Hale _not_ in handcuffs, he didn't seem feral like the reports had clearly stated. Hell, he was wearing a soft Henley and worn jeans, and he didn't even _look_ dangerous. From the expressions Rafe could see on most people, it seemed like they were trying to hide their attraction to a recently wanted criminal. Rafe couldn't see it, himself.

 _Maybe it was the beard?_ he wondered, stroking his bare chin briefly.

"Agent McCall, sir, you realise that's _Hale?_ " one of the agents asked, glancing between Rafe and Hale quickly.

"Yes, I'm aware of that, Larry. He's been acquitted of all charges and is cooperating with my division," Rafe replied, daring Larry to say anything else.

Larry nodded, glancing at Hale warily as he returned to his desk.

"Cooperating with your division?" Derek echoed softly, raising an eyebrow.

"It's as close to the truth as it gets. Larry isn't known for his ability to keep his mouth shut; everyone in the building will know about it before we reach the next floor," Rafe said, sounding more amused about it than he probably should have.

Derek gave a slight nod and continued to follow Rafe across the floor. They didn't get far before he tapped Rafe's shoulder and stopped suddenly. "Siren."

"What?"

"Women known to draw sailors to their deaths by singing?" Derek prompted.

"Oh, right. Who?" Rafe asked, frowning as he looked around and tried to spot a _siren_ among his very human-looking peers.

"Blonde hair," Derek replied, indicating towards the woman with a nod.

Rafe headed to the woman's desk, Derek waiting behind. "Ari, would you care to take a walk with me?" It wasn't a question.

Ari seemed wary, glancing from Rafe to Hale. "Yes, sir."

A few people seemed surprised at Ari being picked out for _something_ , but no one commented while Rafe was still in the room. He headed back to Hale and continued to the elevator, not looking back as Derek and Ari followed him. They made it to the elevator without stopping again, and stepped inside in silence.

"Derek, werewolf," he introduced, holding a hand out to shake once the doors had closed and people started to whisper.

Ari looked from Derek to his hand, then shook it gently. "Ariana. I didn't think you knew about... _this_ , sir," she said to Rafe.

"According to certain people who shall remain nameless, I _don't_ know a thing," Rafe muttered.

Derek covered his laugh with a cough, knowing exactly who the 'nameless' person was.

"From the things I've been able to piece together in the past two years, well... I hope that I know more than most of the population. Sirens are new," Rafe admitted, looking to Ari. "Is that how you stopped Brown last year?"

Ari's cheeks reddened and she nodded. "I only use it as a last resort. I wouldn't be a very good negotiator otherwise," she added.

"If it stops someone from slaughtering an office full of people, use it as much as you need," Rafe said, going quiet again once the doors opened to his floor.

People stopped whispering immediately, returning to their work and not even glancing their way when Derek stepped out with Rafe and Ari. _Larry worked fast_.

Derek sniffed briefly, frowning. "How many people are in your division? Thirty?"

"Thirty-two, and all the best in their respective fields. I've been trying to get Ari for two years," Rafe mentioned as he headed towards his office.

"You have, sir?" Ari asked, surprised.

"Cowgill refuses to let you go."

Derek tapped Rafe's shoulder and waited until he stopped. "Out of the thirty-two people in your division, there are twelve who aren't human."

Rafe frowned. "I only thought there were three. Don't tell Stiles that," he muttered, heading to his office and looking out the large window to the desks below. "Who?"

Derek told him the location of each person and waited. "There's something else as well. I can't put my finger on it, but the scent's familiar. I can't tell where it's coming from," he added, frowning and sniffing again.

Rafe nodded and left his office, calling for the twelve people Derek had indicated. Five minutes later, Rafe's office was crowded with the three werewolves he knew about, as well as two werecoyotes, two kitsune, one banshee, two Druids, two witches, and Ari.

Not everyone seemed pleased to have been outed as not-entirely-human and at least four of the twelve were glaring at Derek, one of whom was the witch. Derek felt his skin crawl in response, and he wondered if she was hexing him. Unfortunately, it wouldn't be the first time.

"You may or may not have heard of Beacon Hills," Rafe said, drawing their attention and interest immediately. "A threat is there that needs to be contained and/or dealt with. At the moment, it only seems to be a hellhound threatening the townspeople, but banshees across the country have been receiving the town's name and it will encourage others to go there as well. Namely hunters," he added.

Stiles had practically hand-written the script Rafe needed to not only get the attention of anyone supernaturally-inclined, but also to encourage their need to protect others. They were FBI agents for a reason, after all. At the mention of hunters, every last person had their attention on Rafe and he looked between them to discern their responses: anger, hate, fear, suspicion, more fear. Underlying all of that was a grim determination, so it looked like Stiles had been right to play to their protective sides.

The witch stopped glaring and/or hexing Derek, her shoulders stiffening at the mention of hunters. Werewolves weren't the only innocents who were persecuted, and Salem was still too fresh in the minds of some. "When are we leaving?"

"This Friday. It's not a lot of time to prepare, but there are - " Rafe cut off abruptly when there was a knock at his office door.

"Sorry to interrupt, sir, but I think you need to know what you're dealing with here," a man said, opening the door without waiting for an answer. He stood straight, calm, and held two guns in his hands.

"Steve?" one of the Druids asked, frowning.

Derek _finally_ recognised the scent: it was the same one he had smelled on the Calaveras in Mexico. "Get down!" he yelled, jumping clear across the room to pull Rafe to the ground behind his desk.

The banshee screamed a werecoyote's name, followed by a witch's name, but it wasn't enough time for either to escape as Steve fired several rounds of bullets into the room. The scent of blood, gunpowder, and metallic bullets filled the air in seconds, even strong enough for humans to recognise. An explosion sounded from the bullpen seconds later, and the smell of fire, flames, and smoke added to the mix of already-overwhelming scents.

Derek heard surprised shouts from both inside and outside Rafe's office as he looked the agent over to ensure he was all right. _A little shell-shocked, but otherwise fine_ , he determined.

Rafe blinked a few times, shook his head, and seemed to gather his wits again. Derek stayed crouched behind Rafe's desk, listening intently to determine if Steve was still there. He sniffed a few times, trying to get past the plethora of scents to fix on the Calaveras one, and found that it was no longer fresh. Glancing up over the desk, Derek saw that he was right and Steve was already gone. He stood up and nodded to Rafe.

"What just happened? Is everyone all right?" Rafe asked, standing and looking over the people in his office.

Ari had been shot in the shoulder, her face pale and her lips drawn tight. One witch was dead, while the one who had glared at Derek was using a green kind of magic to heal the two Druids from wounds in their stomach and chest respectively. Derek felt his gaze slipping over her without really taking the information in properly, and gathered she was using a spell to redirect anyone's attention from what she was doing. One werecoyote was dead and the other was wounded. The kitsune were both burning brightly, each having lost a tail in the fray of bullets. The werewolves were snarling, eyes gold and claws out, their control having slipped as their scents were overwhelmed. Steve hadn't used wolfsbane bullets, thankfully, so their wounds would heal eventually.

"We have to leave now; the Calaveras won't be far behind him," Derek said.

"The Calaveras are a cartel in _Mexico_ ; what interest do they have in any of this?" Rafe asked.

"They're hunters. They've been to Beacon Hills before. We need to go."

"I need to look after my division, Hale. I have injured people and - "

"They are going to kill your son and anyone who gets in their way," Derek snapped.

Rafe paled slightly and nodded. "Rodriguez!" he called loudly, a young man stepping into his office, eyes wide at the sight of blood, glass, and bullets. "Call every medic we have in the area to deal with the wounded. Alert security and every law enforcement agency from here to California that a domestic terrorist is on the loose; give them Steve's picture. See if we can get him _before_ he alerts the Calaveras. Get everyone we have in the Calaveras cartel to let us know exactly when they plan to move."

"Yes, sir," Rodriguez replied, leaving the office immediately.

"We need - " Derek started to say before another explosion occurred.

This explosion was much closer to Rafe's office than before. The glass walls of his office shattered, and the heat and blast from the explosion threw Derek back off his feet, his head connecting with the thick window frame. He crumpled to the ground and didn't move.

...

End of the twelfth chapter.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

...

An explosion rang out, a fire alarm started to blare, and even without Tomika yelling two names, Stiles knew that something had gone horribly wrong. Neither name was Derek's, so Stiles forced himself to focus on that silver lining before he turned to his peers.

Without really meaning to, Stiles took charge. Sean watched in surprise as the recruits actually responded to him without question. Stiles was used to talking and not having anyone listen, but now with authority in his voice and first-hand knowledge of how to _survive_ when shit went down, people sat up and listened.

"Marcie, Grant, see if you can find out who set the explosion off," Stiles said, Marcie turning invisible as she ran out, Grant a step behind her. "Teresa, Mia, try to get out of here first and make sure no one leaves the designated meeting area," he said, both leaving at a run. "Jorge, Yelena, get as many people out of the building as you can and keep an eye out for anyone trying to escape out of service or other access doors. Li, Kuhle, get to the higher levels and make sure no one's trapped or being held hostage. Set off every fire alarm in the area if there are; emergency services will get to you faster," Stiles said, all four leaving with their instructions. "Tomika, you're with me. Sean, uh, sorry... _Sir_ , can we be escorted to Agent McCall's office, please?" Stiles ended, realising that his instructor wasn't just going to hand over his access card.

Stiles was anxious about Derek and needed to see him with his own eyes before he'd be assured that he was all right. Just because Tomika hadn't yelled his name, it didn't mean he was unharmed.

Sean didn't hesitate, but nodded and led Stiles and Tomika out of the room. There were already a large amount of people in the hallways, but Sean walked straight without stopping and they all parted before him to make a path. Stiles and Tomika stuck as close to Sean as possible, trying not to step on anyone's toes along the way.

The elevators could be overridden during a fire alarm with the right access card, and Sean was able to get an elevator so they wouldn't be stuck trying to get up far too many stairs with far too many people blocking their way. The elevator music was a stark contrast to the shouting and the second explosion that rocked the building a moment later. The elevator doors opened to McCall's floor and complete and utter chaos.

Stiles didn't wait for Tomika or Sean, sprinting straight for McCall's office where he knew Derek would be. A brief burst of his spark had people moving for him and Stiles reached the door in a matter of seconds, only to see Derek lying motionless on the floor. His eyes widened and he ran over to Derek, skidding to his knees by his side.

"Derek? Hey, Derek, come on, wake up. Get up," he called, lightly tapping Derek's cheeks. "Come on, man, you've gotta get up. You can't die on me again. _Please_ , Derek," Stiles said, a hint of hysteria in his voice.

 _Derek couldn't be_... **No** , Stiles refused to finish that thought. He had to _believe_ that Derek would wake up, that he'd be all right, that he would survive.

" _Who did this?!_ " Stiles asked, his voice little more than a snarl as he turned on the others in the office.

Rafe wasn't proud of the fact that he flinched back at the sight of Stiles' eyes glowing blue.

One of the Druids looked at Stiles for a second - recognising him for what he was - before answering. "Steve. He... He worked with me. He saved my life a year ago," the Druid said, sounding confused and hurt at their friend's betrayal.

"I need something that belonged to him. Now!" Stiles snapped.

All three werewolves darted out of the room immediately.

"Stiles?" Derek mumbled, eyes unfocused and blinking a few times.

The blue faded from Stiles' eyes in an instant and he looked to Derek, cupping his face as he helped him sit up. "I'm here, Der. You're all right."

Derek smiled, big and broad and trusting. Then his smile faded and he grabbed Stiles' wrist, holding it up and counting his fingers.

"You're awake, Der. I promise," Stiles said, Derek looking relieved at his words even before he finished counting.

Rafe felt as though he was intruding on a personal moment and didn't know whether he should turn around to give them privacy or not. He didn't get a chance because the three werewolves returned with Tomika and Sean on their heels, the werewolves carrying an odd assortment of items, presumably belonging to Steve.

"We found his desk," Tasha said, dropping her armful of random crap beside Stiles.

Okami and Caleb quickly did the same, and it would have been amusing if not for the fact that Rafe realised they were _afraid_ of Stiles. To see werewolves - who were practically indestructible, in his mind - _terrified_ of a young man that they could probably bench press was surprising to say the least.

Rafe had spent years analysing people and their emotions, the tell-tale signs for lying and hiding things, and it was only because of those skills that he realised the three werewolves weren't _just_ afraid of Stiles, but afraid of _disappointing_ him. Their expressions didn't tell him more than that and Rafe wondered what the hell was going on.

"Thank you," Stiles said, the three werewolves immediately relaxing at his words.

Stiles sorted through pens, notebooks, stationery, and stopped when he found a comb. It was somewhat melted but still useable and Stiles' fingertips flickered with blue sparks when he grabbed it from the pile. He looked up and saw the witch, his head tilted to the side. "Would you mind helping me?"

Sara nodded and stepped forward without hesitation, something akin to reverence in her expression. Rafe still had no idea what was going on, but he couldn't bring himself to look away. Stiles and Sara held the comb tightly, green and blue melding in a colourful sphere around their joined hands, and they chanted something in sync - _Latin, perhaps?_ \- with their words echoing and reverberating throughout the office. Even the shouting and blare of alarms from outside Rafe's destroyed office seemed dull in comparison.

Then, without any warning, the two colours finished melding and burst out in a bright string of light, pointing straight out of the office and down towards the parking lot. Stiles barely had to _glance_ at the werewolves before they were gone, following the line of light.

"Come on, Derek; let's get you out of here," Stiles said, standing and lifting Derek to his feet, carefully wrapping Derek's arm around his shoulders.

Derek still looked groggy and unsteady, his face bloodied, but Rafe didn't dare suggest to help carry him. Stiles walked out of the office with Derek's arm slung around his shoulders, Derek's head bleeding and his eyes unfocused as they stumbled through the chaos and smoke, and over to the elevators.

"I've got you, Derek. I promise," Stiles murmured, his voice soft in the noise around them, but Derek heard anyway.

"I know," he replied, holding onto Stiles a little tighter.

Rafe snapped out of his daze and realised that he was still meant to be in charge. "Everyone head outside. Bring as many people with you as you can," he added.

There were firm nods in response and Rafe left to determine how the rest of his division had fared from Steve's betrayal.

...

End of the thirteenth chapter.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

...

"He escaped. The asshole used a flash bomb on me," Teresa snapped angrily, her third eyelids blinking rapidly as she tried to recover from the sudden flare of light.

"Three people ran down here a minute ago; I think they broke down a door to get outside," Mia reported.

"It's all right, they're with us. They'll get him," Stiles said, continuing past so he could sit Derek on a bench outside. "Feeling better?"

"A little. Too much of _everything_ in there," Derek muttered, breathing in the fresh air and blinking the soot from his eyes.

Stiles was silent for a long moment, looking over Derek to ensure that he was really okay. "I thought you were going to die on me again," he admitted, his voice low.

Derek shook his head and reached up to grab Stiles' hand, squeezing firmly. "I'm not going anywhere."

Stiles felt the tension and adrenaline leak out of his body all at once and he practically collapsed on the bench beside Derek, shock wearing off and leaving him trembling slightly. "Glad to hear it."

Derek stroked Stiles' hand gently, soothing and calming him. Even when Stiles knew that his heartbeat had returned to its normal pace, Derek still didn't let go or stop stroking his hand.

Stiles glanced at Derek, who was still covered in dried blood and soot, but looking surprisingly calm. "You okay?"

Derek nodded. "Yeah; you?"

"A little surprised you're not going after that hunter now that we're outside. You can smell him, right?" he asked, watching Derek's face - and his eyebrows - carefully.

Derek's eyebrow rose slightly and he glanced down to their hands. "Yes. But you're more important," he said with a shrug, as if that explained everything.

They were both silent for a moment, looking over to where the emergency services vehicles were arriving with a blare of sirens, smoke still pouring out of the building.

Stiles looked back to Derek and frowned, his eyes narrowing. "What's your anchor? It can't be anger anymore; you don't even _look_ angry," he said.

"Is now really the time, Stiles?" Derek asked with a sigh, rubbing his face with his free hand, smearing soot and dried blood. He frowned at his dirty hand before looking at Stiles. Realising that he wasn't going to get away with _not_ giving Stiles an answer, Derek sighed again. "You're my anchor."

"What?"

Derek shrugged, his ears turning pink. "I trust you, and... You're important to me."

"Important as a friend, as a pack mate, or...?" Stiles trailed off, wondering just how long he'd been Derek's anchor and why he hadn't told him before.

"Or," Derek replied, grinning slightly.

His response confused Stiles for a moment before his brain caught up. "Wait, what? You _like_ me? Since when?! Why didn't you tell me sooner?!"

Derek didn't have a chance to reply, as the three werewolves returned, hauling Steve between them. They weren't wolfed out, but their clothes were in disarray and it was obvious they hadn't caught the man without a fight. Steve was gagged with Caleb's shirt, his shouts muffled behind the fabric. As they made their way through the crowd, people stopped and stared. Tasha, Okami, and Caleb ignored the stares and dragged Steve over to where Stiles and Derek were sitting. Derek sat up straighter at their appearance, frowning as he sniffed.

"What do you want us to do with him?" Okami asked Stiles, her grip on Steve tightening as he tried to yell out again from behind Caleb's shirt.

"Uh, right... If McCall is up to questioning him, we can find out if he already alerted the Calaveras before attacking," Stiles suggested.

Okami nodded and the three werewolves hauled Steve away through the crowd again.

Derek looked from the werewolves to Stiles, still frowning. "You picked up three strays?"

"What?"

"Whatever you did or said while I was unconscious has them deferring to you as pack leader."

"But I'm not an Alpha? Hell, I'm not even a werewolf."

Derek shrugged. "That doesn't matter to omegas. It doesn't matter to most werewolves, in fact. The Alpha is the one in control, the one who will protect and lead them. An Alpha could be a human in the right circumstances."

"But... what about Scott?"

"He's an Alpha in Beacon Hills, not here."

Stiles frowned as he thought it over. He looked around the waiting area, seeing his peers keeping everyone together and under control. Marcie and Grant were working with Teresa and Mia now that Steve had been caught. Jorge and Yelena were checking with the leaders for each FBI division to ensure that everyone was out and safe, and finding those who were missing. Li and Kuhle were talking with security and the emergency services about people who had been injured or trapped by debris. Tomika had left the building when Steve was brought in, the others in Rafe's office either healed or being carried out.

 _He was going to have the weirdest pack on Earth_.

"Don't think you've distracted me from _this_ , by the way," Stiles said, indicating between them, trying not to grin too much when Derek blushed.

Stiles leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss to Derek's mouth. It was just a brush of lips, so short that Derek might have missed it had he not been the recipient. Derek's ears went pink when he heard a few of Stiles' peers snickering to themselves.

Stiles ignored them, then stood up and brushed off his clothes, straightening out his FBI vest. "I'd better go help. Can't be a good pack leader if I sit on my butt all day," he said with a grin, offering Derek his hand.

Derek took it and let Stiles haul him up to his feet. He squeezed Stiles' hand once more and they headed towards the crowd of FBI employees to help out where they could.

...

" _Breaking news: the FBI building in Quantico, Virginia, has been attacked. Smoke is pouring out of the building and witnesses have reported hearing two loud explosions. It is currently unclear who is responsible for this attack or if there are any casualties._ "

The Sheriff dropped his coffee mug, ignoring the smash of ceramic and the hot coffee that splashed on his pants. He forced himself not to run to his phone, but it was a near thing. His hand was trembling as he rang Stiles' number. No answer. He tried Derek's number. No answer. Flicking through his rolodex of contacts, the Sheriff found Rafe's work number and called, his heart pounding.

An automated voice pleasantly told him that the phone was not currently in service, and then the Sheriff was listening to a dial tone.

"Sheriff? Lydia said that Stiles is okay; she'd know if he wasn't," Parrish added, knocking on his door.

"Lydia can only tell if he's dead, not if he's alive and hurting," the Sheriff snapped.

Parrish nodded, seeming chastised, but the Sheriff couldn't focus on him, not yet. He didn't let himself focus on his trembling hand as he dialled Rafe's mobile number, the number written on the back of his business card and one that the Sheriff had decided for emergency use only when he'd seen it written there.

"McCall."

"Is Stiles okay?" the Sheriff asked urgently, his fingers clenched in a tight fist, his knuckles white as he tried to prepare himself for an answer he didn't know he'd survive.

"He's fine. So is Hale," Rafe added.

The Sheriff all but collapsed onto his chair, trying to breathe and return his heart rate to normal. "What happened?" he demanded.

"It was a hunter; one of the Calaveras' people. I think the only reason he's still alive is because Hale survived," Rafe said, somewhere between amused and worried. He sighed and shook his head. "So, I hear there's a hellhound in Beacon Hills?"

The Sheriff blinked. "You know?"

"I worked some things out since my visit there, and your son filled me in on the rest. We're heading to Beacon Hills tonight. I've talked with the hunter and he alerted the Calaveras before setting off the explosions, so expect company of the unpleasant variety as well."

Sitting up straighter, the Sheriff nodded. "Thanks for the heads up. Is Stiles there?" he asked, still a little anxious to make sure that his son was all right, despite Rafe's reassurances.

"I'll get him for you," Rafe said.

There was a moment of silence, some awkward shuffling and the phone changing hands, and then the Sheriff heard Stiles' voice and he let out the breath he hadn't known he was holding.

"Pops? Everything okay?"

"The attack was on the news; I tried ringing you, but your phone's off. I almost had a heart attack, son."

"Shit! I'm sorry, Pops. I didn't have a chance to turn it on after the explosions; I was busy helping out. Derek and I are both all right, and the guy who did it is in custody," Stiles added, hoping he sounded reassuring and his father wasn't really going to have a heart attack. "Also, I kind of _might have_ adopted three grown adult werewolves and become the Alpha for the weirdest pack on Earth."

"What?"

"I didn't mean to, it just... _happened_."

The Sheriff shook his head and focused on breathing in and out for a few seconds. _Only his son would go to the FBI and come out with more pack members than he started with_. "Rafe says you're coming here tonight? What happened to Friday?"

"Yeah, he's organising last-minute plane tickets for all of us, claiming it as a training exercise for us recruits. It's better to be going to Beacon Hills sooner rather than later, especially after everything that happened today. Two Druids were badly hurt in the explosion and have to go to the hospital for internal bleeding, and one kitsune is down to her last tail so she's staying behind, but there's about twenty of us in all," Stiles said. "How's everything going there?"

The Sheriff sighed as he thought of the hellhound's revelation. He briefly considered not telling Stiles, preferring to tell him in person rather than on the phone, but he knew that his son would find out eventually, and decided that now was better than later. Perhaps it'd give Stiles time to come to terms with it and hopefully give him time to think about what they could do. "The hellhound thinks that whatever came out with you guys... well, it might be in you."

"It can't be."

The certainty in Stiles' voice surprised the Sheriff. "How do you know?"

"Because after everything went down with the Nogitsune, I found a spell to protect myself from possession so it wouldn't happen again. The spell covers any sorts of things trying to ride around in my skull or body, so it literally _can't_ be inside of me. I mean, the hellhound can do a check if he wants. The thing he did with Scott sounds fairly painless, at least. But I _swear_ it's not me. Not this time, at least," Stiles added wryly.

While the Sheriff could appreciate Stiles trying to lighten up the conversation with his usual brand of humour, it just didn't make any _sense_. "But Scott's already been checked, Malia, Liam and Mason are fine, and Lydia's immune. Apart from the hellhound and Mr. Forrester's chickens being eaten by foxes, nothing's happened in Beacon Hills since the Wild Hunt."

"So what came out with us?" Stiles asked, a cold shudder running up his spine.

...

End of the fourteenth chapter.

Author's note: dun, dun, duuuuuun.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

...

The FBI building was determined to be safe and people were allowed inside again. Stiles found Derek helping Okami, Tasha, and Caleb clear the debris, and jogged over to them. "We can go inside now. Do I want to know where Steve was taken?" he asked.

Tasha shook her head. "Nowhere you'll be allowed for another five years at least, honey."

"Is it underground?" Stiles asked as they headed for the entrance, Derek taking his hand beside him.

Caleb snorted. "Where else would it be?"

Stiles thought of going inside his mind with the Nogitsune and then with the Nemeton; he thought of the Ghost Riders' train station and the world that was similar to their own, but not at all. Eventually, he shrugged. The FBI probably didn't even know about those sorts of places, let alone have access to them.

Tasha nudged Caleb sharply. "You've got the sensitivity of a pile of bricks, honey."

Caleb started bickering with Tasha, Okami rolling her eyes beside them.

"There's the bathroom," Stiles muttered gratefully, seeing the sign up ahead. He wanted to clean up sooner rather than later.

Tasha and Okami pulled Caleb ahead with them, leaving Stiles and Derek alone. Tasha winked at Stiles over her shoulder. He totally did _not_ blush.

Others had the same idea to clean up and the bathroom was far too crowded and noisy. Stiles waited impatiently for people to leave, standing back against a wall with Derek still beside him. Stiles tapped rhythmic patterns on the tiles behind his back, ignoring glances from the other FBI employees as they looked from Derek to Stiles on their way out. A couple of people nodded in thanks, recognising both of them from the help they'd provided, but most were focused on returning to their jobs.

Eventually they were alone, and Stiles locked the door behind the last person to make sure they wouldn't be disturbed. The last thing anyone needed was Derek 'wolfed out if he had to shift to repair any internal damage. He tugged Derek over to one of the basins, wetting a mix of paper towels and toilet paper so he could clean Derek's face properly.

"I can do this myself, Stiles," Derek muttered when Stiles threw out one lump of bloodied and sooty paper.

Stiles scoffed and muttered something unintelligible under his breath. They'd spent too many times patching each other up at Beacon Hills for him to stop just because they were on the other side of the country.

Derek didn't protest again when Stiles returned with another ball of damp paper, and Stiles looked over Derek's face, his eyebrows furrowed as he inspected every expanse of skin to ensure he was all right, clean, and uninjured.

"Your turn," Derek said when Stiles seemed satisfied.

"What?"

"You're just as bad as I was," Derek said, turning them around so Stiles was pressed up against the basin instead.

"I'll just splash some water on my face. I've got to get to class," Stiles said, looking over his shoulder to his reflection in the mirror. He winced at the sight of the soot, blood and sweat that covered his face.

 _Okay, maybe he was a_ ** _little_** _grimy_.

Stiles sighed heavily as Derek wet his own ball of paper, but turned his face upwards when he returned. Derek was gentler than Stiles probably had been, his fingers lingering on Stiles' jaw and chin, stroking across his moles and freckles, and Stiles watched Derek with dark eyes, exhaling shakily when he saw the intense expression on his face. Stiles licked his lips, a little nervous for no real reason, and saw Derek's gaze fall to his mouth.

Making out with Derek in an FBI bathroom wasn't something Stiles had ever anticipated - nor considered romantic, it was a _bathroom_ for fuck's sakes - but that didn't stop him from surging up against Derek, cupping his face in his hands, and kissing him firmly. Derek made a soft noise in response, the sound muffled between their mouths, and Stiles clung onto his shoulders that little bit tighter.

 _Derek had made that noise because of him;_ ** _he'd_** _done that to him_.

Derek cupped the back of Stiles' head, his palm warm and firm. He tilted Stiles' head back slightly to deepen their kiss, licking at his mouth. Stiles responded eagerly, his fingers curling in Derek's hair. Considering everything they'd gone through in the last two hours, Stiles felt that Derek's hair was unfairly soft, but he wasn't about to complain.

There was a solid knock at the door and they pulled apart quickly, eyes wide and dark, and their chests heaving breathlessly. Stiles realised that he was still in the FBI building, still wearing his FBI vest, and probably late for whatever was happening now with Sean and his peers. He ran a hand through his hair, tugged off his vest, and took Derek's hand.

Striding over to the door, Stiles unlocked it and continued straight through the doorway, not allowing the person inside, nor allowing them to gawk at him and Derek.

Further down the hallway, Tomika was waiting, smirking at them and their kiss-swollen lips. "About time, Stilinski; I was about to go in there for you myself. McCall's giving a debriefing and he wants everyone there. You're included in that, Hale," she said, turning and leading them to the recruits' usual room.

Rafe glanced at Stiles and Derek when they entered the room after Tomika. He raised his eyebrow at them, but didn't say anything. "The Calaveras have been alerted and are heading to Beacon Hills. It's a mass assault against every creature living in the town, and there have been reports of hunters and cartels heading to California as well. None of them are friendly," he added, looking at the group around the room seriously.

The recruits were there - emotions ranging from scared and worried to anticipatory and eager to prove themselves - as were the people from Rafe's own division.

"Pack your bags; we're heading to Beacon Hills tonight."

...

Stiles unsuccessfully tried to rest on the flight from Virginia to California. He was nervous and it showed in his jittering leg as well as his heartbeat and scent. Derek was sitting next to him, their fingers entwined, but even _that_ didn't help. They hadn't exactly talked about their kiss or hand holding, but neither of them wanted to make grand declarations before a fight they might not survive. The thought made Stiles squeeze Derek's hand a little tighter.

Derek squeezed his hand in return, stroking the back of Stiles' hand with his thumb. When he had Stiles' attention, Derek closed the space between them and kissed Stiles gently.

 _Apparently, that was a thing they were doing now_.

Stiles grinned and kissed Derek back, ignoring the gagging noises coming from Tomika, Teresa, and Li in the seats behind them. They stopped kissing when the plane took off, both of them too busy concentrating on _not_ concentrating on the sudden rise of the plane. Stiles kept his eyes closed as tightly as possible and without Derek's distracting kisses, his anxiety and nerves soon returned two-fold.

Eventually, one of Rafe's team left his seat further down the plane to sit on the aisle seat next to Stiles. Stiles remembered the man as a werecoyote, but couldn't recall his name.

The man smiled at him, looking amused. "You are very nervous for a human who has been a part of this world for so long. Many your age do not survive," he said.

Thinking of Allison, Erica, and Boyd, Stiles could only nod in response, his throat suddenly feeling too tight for a verbal response. Beside him, Derek tensed, his hand clenching Stiles' tighter.

The man frowned at the tendril of hurt and pain he scented. "Forgive me, I did not mean to upset you. I am Mohammed," he introduced, smiling.

"But you're a werecoyote?" Stiles said, feeling stupid the moment the words left his mouth.

"Yes, I am," Mohammed replied with a smile. He recognised the curiosity in Stiles' expression and continued to tell his story, mostly to help distract the young man from his nerves. "I was scratched when I was a young boy; my grandparents knew tales of were-creatures and they looked after me when my parents could not. It was a... difficult time and I was a difficult child because of it. I would not have survived past my teenage years without them, so I am still very grateful to them," he admitted fondly.

Stiles was suddenly burning with a million questions, his own worries and fears put to the side. "Why did you decide to join the FBI?"

Mohammed seemed pleased at Stiles' interest. "My grandmother was a very strong woman and had an even stronger sense of right and wrong. She instilled the same into me and once I progressed through my difficulties, I found that I wanted to help people as she and my grandfather had helped me. I wanted people to know that I would give my life to protect and help them. I wanted people to understand and believe that I am not a monster, despite my religion or the fact that I can shift into an animal. I wanted to look at myself and know the same thing," he added almost to himself, lost in his memories and thoughts.

Stiles nodded. "Not all monsters do monstrous things," he said, his voice quiet.

His words brought Mohammed out of his memories, and he laughed. "That is very true," he replied, not looking so troubled now. "You have lived in Beacon Hills all your life?" he asked curiously.

"Yep, born and raised," Stiles quipped, grinning. "Didn't know about all of _this_ until about five years ago, though. Considering the amount of stuff that's happened in the past five years alone, I'm surprised I didn't work it out sooner."

"It is difficult for humans to accept things they do not want to accept," Mohammed said.

"Yeah, but sometimes it feels like Beacon Hills is Sunnydale and we're on a Hellmouth or something. I mean, we've had an Alpha pack, a Darach, a werewolf abomination, a kanima, a Nogitsune, Dread Doctors, the Wild Hunt, and a bunch of assassins including, but not limited to, a guy without a mouth," Stiles said, ticking off on his fingers. "No one's been able to tell me how that guy survived without eating, by the way."

"That is a lot for one town," Mohammed agreed, surprised. "You have someone in place for protection?"

"Uh, kinda? There's a Druid, but he's mostly good at being cryptic; my best friend's there at the moment. We've been... protecting everyone for a few years."

"Not the people," Mohammed clarified, shaking his head. "Your town is called Beacon Hills? You have someone to protect the beacon?"

"The town was named that way because the government built a beacon there in the 1600s. Wasn't it?" Stiles added when Mohammed frowned at his response.

"Perhaps that is the reason given to the human townsfolk, but there would be another beacon for the supernatural folk. They are not driven to a place for no reason; neither are humans, for that matter," Mohammed added pointedly.

Stiles thought about it for less than a second before he came to the obvious conclusion. "The Nemeton; it's one of the oldest trees in the forest. Deaton says it's been fully charged since... uh, my friends and I did things that charged it up. But it's only a stump."

"Someone _destroyed_ the beacon?"

Stiles was surprised at the shocked expression clear on Mohammed's face. "I guess?"

"This is bad. The beacon is lit, but no one is watching the flames," Mohammed murmured, his eyes wide. He was out of his seat before Stiles could reply, heading straight to Rafe and talking in low, urgent whispers.

Stiles looked at Derek. "What just happened?"

Derek kept his gaze on Mohammed and Rafe for a long moment, and Stiles knew that he was listening to their conversation. Finally, Derek looked away and returned his attention to Stiles. "It seems that the beacon's power is no longer contained nor protecting the townsfolk as it should be. It explains the increase in supernatural activity at Beacon Hills."

"So... cutting down the Nemeton basically put a neon sign above our town saying ' _look at us, we're unprotected, come and kill us!_ '?"

Derek nodded. "It seems that way. Shouldn't recharging the Nemeton effectively turn _off_ the neon sign?" he added with a slight frown.

Stiles' fingers itched for his phone, his computer, _something_ with Internet access. Going for his carry-on luggage instead, Stiles pulled out his copy of the Bestiary and three pens, flicking through the pages until he found the entry for the Nemeton. He had three and a half hours before they landed in Beacon Hills and Stiles wanted to know everything so that, for once, they wouldn't be heading into a fight blind.

...

End of the fifteenth chapter.

Author's note: Tomika, Teresa, and Mia totally placed bets on when Stiles & Derek would succumb to the sexual tension. Tomika won.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

...

The Sheriff met them at the arrival gate. He hung back, despite his relief to see Stiles whole and unharmed, unsure as to whether his son would want his peers and possible future colleagues to see them hugging. He noticed Stiles holding Derek's hand and raised an eyebrow briefly.

 _Finally_ , he thought with a slight grin.

When Stiles had been having nightmares, Derek had offered to stay with him at night to look after him and do his... werewolf healing _thing_. It had taken another two weeks before Derek had gathered the courage to ask the Sheriff if he could court Stiles. He'd agreed with a firm handshake, showing the werewolf who was boss and Derek very kindly letting him. Derek hadn't really done anything different, and Stiles was still a little oblivious to the fact that people found him attractive, so nothing had really come of the whole thing. Stiles had only been gone for a week before Derek followed after him, surprising no one but Stiles himself. The Sheriff was just glad they'd _finally_ sorted things out.

Stiles grinned, dropped his carry-on bag into Derek's arms, and practically launched himself at his father, hugging him tightly. "You didn't think I'd let you get away without giving me a hug, did you, old man?"

"Never," the Sheriff replied, laughing against his son's shoulder. "Come on now, we're both meant to be professionals here."

Stiles grinned. " _Professional_ can wait."

The Sheriff tried not to grin too broadly at that. They pulled away a moment later, and he looked from Stiles to the group of twenty-odd people who'd disembarked the flight with him. Derek was coming over with Stiles' bag over his shoulder, his cheeks turning pink when the Sheriff raised an eyebrow at him pointedly. "Nice to see you, Derek. Have you been accused of murder lately?" he asked, trying not to grin _too_ much.

"Seriously, Pops?!" Stiles hissed.

"Not in the last few days, sir," Derek replied, grinning outright.

The Sheriff grinned and held out a hand. Derek shook it, a little firmer than he had the last time they'd shaken hands. "Glad to hear it, son. How was the flight over?" he asked both Stiles and Derek, ignoring Stiles' curious look at their handshake.

"Not bad. We've got a lead, so we'll be heading into the forest sooner rather than later," Stiles replied, looking over to the entrance and seeing Agent McCall heading their way.

"Are you sure?" the Sheriff asked, concerned. No one went into the forest lately, not even Scott.

"Yeah, I'm sure. Pops, you remember Agent McCall. Agent McCall, you remember the Sheriff?" Stiles said when McCall stopped beside them.

Rafe and the Sheriff both rolled their eyes, but shook hands firmly.

"Good to see you, Rafe."

"You too. Why don't we head down to the station and discuss a few things? Mind if my team borrows one of your rooms to get set up?"

"Not at all; I've organised a room already. There's cruisers out the front for everyone to get a ride. If you need to run instead, just follow the cars; the roads will be clear," the Sheriff added, noting a few looks of relief at the offer.

He didn't blame them; being cooped up on a plane was bad enough for him as a human.

"Thanks, Sheriff," Derek said with a nod, heading to the exit with Stiles and several of their group.

"Come on, I've got to check this out or I'll - " Stiles stopped talking so abruptly that several people looked at him. "Roscoe!"

Tomika looked from Stiles to Derek, frowning. "Who or what is Roscoe?"

Derek smirked and nodded ahead to where Stiles was running towards his Jeep. "That is Roscoe."

"There is _no way_ I'm riding in that," Tomika said, shaking her head vehemently.

"I will. After all of Stilinski's talking, I kind of want to see what this Nemeton thing is," Marcie said, shrugging at Tomika's expression.

"I'll meet you at the station," Grant said. "If I get to choose someone to travel with, it's going to be the person who can predict death."

Tomika laughed heartily and headed to one of the cruisers that were waiting for them, Grant following after her quickly.

"Have you finished kissing your car yet?" Derek asked.

"Don't be jealous," Stiles said, grinning over at him. "Still want to go for a run?"

"Yeah. I'll follow you," Derek replied, pressing a quick kiss to Stiles' mouth before heading out of the parking lot at a jog.

"Ready to go, Stilinski?" Marcie asked.

"Sure. Hop in," Stiles said, heading to the driver's seat and getting his keys from between the roof and sun visor.

" _That's_ secure," Marcie said, rolling her eyes.

Stiles snorted. "Everyone in town knows who Roscoe belongs to, and they wouldn't steal my baby if they knew what was good for them. Besides, I've charmed Roscoe from tyre to top," he said with a grin, starting the ignition and patting the steering wheel. "Don't worry, baby; I've got you."

Marcie frowned when the Jeep's engine rumbled, almost as if in response to Stiles' words. "Did you charm your car to talk as well?"

"Nah, Roscoe's always done that. Usually when I run out of duct tape," Stiles admitted.

He reversed out of the parking lot and headed towards the forest, Derek running alongside the Jeep easily.

...

Walking through the forest in evening was about as great as Stiles remembered, which was to say: not at all. He tripped over a tree root for the third time, cursing and swearing as he did so. After fifteen more minutes of walking, they made it to the Nemeton, the tree stump just as huge and dominating as ever. Stiles frowned at the sight.

"What's wrong?" Derek asked, scenting his concern.

"Everything I read about the Nemeton in the bestiary," Stiles said, trailing off as he tried to gather his thoughts into coherent sentences. "When the Nemeton is out of power, it's a normal tree, right? When it's fully charged, then it's a beacon, prison, and connects the ley lines so it's _more_ than a tree."

"Right," Derek said.

Marcie just frowned at the concept of a tree being _more_ than a tree.

"So the combination of Darach's sacrifices and our deaths, the Nemeton is fully charged. But it's not a tree."

"You've lost me," Derek said, frowning as he looked between Stiles and the tree stump.

"It's still a tree stump. The sacrifices should have healed the damage done to the tree, it should be all powered up and growing again. The Nemeton shouldn't be a tree _stump_ , it should be a _tree_ , and it's definitely _not_ a tree."

Derek took a moment to consider Stiles' words. "So, the Nemeton isn't a tree because... the charge is no longer there?"

"You mean someone is stealing power from the tree stump?" Marcie asked, frowning.

Stiles nodded. "According to the bestiary, it should have started growing shoots since the first sacrifices charged it up."

Derek walked around the circumference of the tree, looking and sniffing carefully. He walked to the stump and placed his palm flat on the wood. "I think it did. The centre here smells like new shoots in spring. It's faint, but the roots are still in the tree, even though the shoots are no longer here. I can't scent anyone or anything else," he added, frustrated.

"What do those shoots actually mean then? It can't _just_ be the tree regrowing, if the tree is more than a tree, can it?" Marcie asked, looking between Derek and Stiles.

Stiles blinked at her question, straightening as he thought of an answer that made sense with everything he'd read and knew. "The Nemeton is also a prison. Those shoots must hold the prisoners while the tree's regrowing."

"So removing the shoots lets the prisoners out?" she queried, frowning.

" _Shit_ ," Stiles cursed at Marcie's question, then looked to Derek. "How many shoots can you scent?"

"Four," Derek replied.

"The Nemeton wasn't fully charged until the Darach, so that's... Nogitsune, Dread Doctors, Ghost Riders, and... what else?"

"Beserkers," Derek suggested.

"We never did find out how they appeared with Argent," Stiles agreed. "You're sure there's nothing else?"

"Nothing I can scent," Derek said, shrugging.

Marcie's phone chimed with a message. "The others are at the station and waiting for us. The Sheriff's worried we're out here in the dark," she added, looking around nervously.

"We'll head there now," Stiles said. "I thought there'd be something more here, but without knowing who removed the shoots, it's a dead end," he said, sighing.

Derek took his hand as they headed from the Nemeton back to the Jeep. "At least we know that someone's actually doing this on purpose. Once is a mistake, twice is a coincidence - "

"Three times is a pattern," Stiles finished. "So what's four?"

"Annoying," Derek muttered, Stiles snickering beside him.

"I still can't believe you've got a sense of humour."

"I've always had one, Stiles," Derek replied, rolling his eyes.

"Don't believe it."

"Guys, can you stop flirting? I'd like to get somewhere warm with hot coffee sooner rather than later," Marcie pointed out.

"The station's warm, but the coffee's not hot nor is it great. Actually, it's barely warm and not even good," Stiles said, wincing.

Marcie just rolled her eyes and continued through the forest with Stiles and Derek.

Behind them, a cloaked figure stepped out from between the trees, scentless and soundless. Reaching out with a gloved hand, they ensured that the Nemeton was free from green shoots. Satisfied that the stump was still bare, they continued on their way.

...

End of the sixteenth chapter.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

...

Stiles saw Scott and his pack gathered outside of the station and grinned broadly. Marcie saw the group as well, grinned over at Stiles and with a wink, she turned invisible. He laughed and drove that little bit faster, pulling up in front of the station with a short squeal of tyres on asphalt.

"You didn't really think you were doing this without me, did you?" Stiles called, grinning when he saw Scott's eyes widen.

"Without us?" Derek amended, stopping beside the Jeep.

Stiles rolled his eyes. "I brought some friends to help; I hope you don't mind?"

Beside him, Marcie reappeared and waved. Scott's jaw dropped in shock, Liam and Mason looked just as stunned, and Malia snarled at Marcie's sudden appearance, her eyes turning blue.

"I _told_ you they were coming," Lydia said from the doorway, arms folded over her chest.

"You didn't say they had an _invisible_ person with them!" Scott replied, still gaping. "She was _not there_ a second ago!"

"Dude, you're a werewolf; we've seen weirder shit than someone turning invisible," Stiles pointed out.

"Uh, he's right," Liam said, Mason nodding beside him.

"I'm Marcie, and despite Stilinski's horror stories, I am dying for a coffee," Marcie said with a grin.

"Come inside, I'll show you to the recon room; it's already set up. Oh, and don't worry, we had coffee brought in from Rosa's diner," Lydia added.

Stiles climbed out of his Jeep and hugged Scott firmly, clinging for a moment. "Good to see you, dude."

"You too, _Stilinski_ ," he said, grinning.

"It's not my fault that no one can pronounce a simple Polish name," Stiles said with a shrug, heading inside with everyone.

"This is an FBI meeting; no children allowed," Sean said, seeing Liam and Mason with the group.

"We're _not_ children," Liam snarled.

"Ah, there's the IED. Nice work with that, kid," Stiles said, patting him on the back before turning to Sean. "They need to be here, sir. They're part of Scott's pack and it'll be difficult to plan anything involving them _without_ them."

"I'll vouch for them," the Sheriff added with a nod.

At his words, both Liam and Mason stood up a little straighter, determined to do the Sheriff proud.

Sean still didn't look overly convinced, but relented when he realised no one was going to send the two kids home.

"Excuse me, sir? Mr. Forrester's here," Tara said, knocking on the doorframe.

"Again?" the Sheriff asked, sighing heavily.

"I thought you said foxes got his chickens?" Stiles asked his father, frowning.

"They did, but he refuses to believe it."

"Why?"

"Because he's a lonely old man," the Sheriff muttered.

"Seriously, Pops? Can we just pretend that nothing is a coincidence in this town, because it _never_ is? What does Mr. Forrester think took his chickens?"

The Sheriff sighed again and looked to his son. "He thinks that wolves somehow managed to climb _over_ his fence _and_ get back over it with all _twelve_ of his chickens all at once."

"Geez, dude, how hungry have you been lately?" Stiles asked, looking to Scott.

Scott's eyes widened. "It wasn't me!"

Stiles grinned. "I know. Who's got the Beacon Hills map?" he asked, looking to the others.

Okami grabbed the map from the pile and handed it over to him. Stiles took a moment to tack it up to the wall, then stepped back. The others stood around him curiously, and Stiles was vaguely aware of his father leaving to deal with Mr. Forrester.

"Okay, so... Mr. Forrester's farm is here," Stiles said, putting a pin in the map. "The Nemeton's here; school is here; Argent's creepy torture dungeon is here; and the Hale house is here."

"And what do they have to do with anything?" Grant asked, frowning as he looked at the odd places strewn across the map.

"Seriously? You're not more concerned about the 'creepy torture dungeon' part?" Tomika asked incredulously.

Stiles ignored them both. "Lyds, do you still have the ley line map?"

She handed her phone to him wordlessly, Derek passing him a roll of string and some thumb tacks a second later. Stiles strung up several lines along the map: one parallel to the river, one crossing the school, five more lines meeting at the Nemeton, others that were small but still enough to warrant Stiles' attention.

"That's where I fell down the well," Liam said, surprised.

"That's where the rats keep dying," Malia murmured, frowning at the next length of string.

"Any sort of explanation would be useful here, Stilinski," Li said, rolling their eyes, one green and one blue.

"The ley lines are places of power throughout town, and the Nemeton is the most powerful of all. The pins are where things have happened throughout town; all of them are either on, next to, or too close to ley lines to be a coincidence," Stiles said. "The Nemeton has been fully charged for almost three years now and it should be growing, but it's not. Well, it is, but someone is stealing the Nemeton's power and releasing the prisoners held within it instead."

"Wait, what?" Scott asked, surprised at the latest news.

"We went to the Nemeton before we came here; shoots have been growing out of the stump, but someone keeps pulling them out and they're releasing the prisoners that the shoots are meant to hold."

"You think someone's doing it on purpose?" Mason asked, frowning. "It doesn't make sense to unleash creatures and death on people unless there's a reason for it, right?"

"The Benefactor gained money," Lydia said with a nod. "So who else would benefit from releasing the prisoners?"

"Who put the prisoners in the Nemeton in the first place?" Rafe asked. "They might know who stands to gain something from their release," he added when a few confused expressions were directed towards him.

"Well, Noshiko put the Nogitsune in there, but that was over a hundred years ago; I doubt she put the others in as well," Stiles said, frowning.

"There was something mentioned in the bestiary about it, wasn't there?" Scott asked, looking between Stiles and Lydia.

"There's a copy on my phone," Lydia said, nodding to the phone that Stiles still held.

"Awesome, thanks," Stiles said, scrolling through Lydia's phone to get to the bestiary photos held in its own album. He opened the album, flicking through the photos until he came to the pages for the Nemeton. Reading them for a moment, Stiles frowned. "Huh."

" _Huh_ what?" Jorge asked, still on edge after the flight. The amount of people around him, with their varying heartbeats and blood types certainly wasn't helping his nerves.

"Lydia has a different version of the bestiary than I do. Where'd you get this, Lyds?" Stiles asked, glancing over to her.

She frowned. "It's the same one you have: the one Allison copied from Gerard."

Stiles shook his head. "Mine's from Deaton. He updated the Argents' bestiary."

"Updated or amended?" Derek asked.

"Amended, looks like," Stiles muttered, looking between a few photos and recalling the pages he'd read earlier. "There's even a section on werecoyotes here," he said in surprise.

Deaton had specifically said that he didn't know anything about werecoyotes and had no way of helping Scott and Stiles with Malia.

" _What?!_ " Malia snarled, her eyes filtering to blue.

"Hey, calm down," Scott said, his voice firm and calm, resting his hand on her shoulder. "There's gotta be an explanation for this."

"Well, why don't we go ask the man and find out?" Tomika asked, grinning.

...

End of the seventeenth chapter.

Author's note: Marcie's backstory

Ever since she was a kid, Marcie's been the kind of person to go invisible just to screw with people - mostly teachers and people she didn't like. She _might have_ followed Grant around the Holocaust Memorial Museum for fifteen minutes while he panicked and searched for her. The only reason she turned visible again is because she almost started laughing when Grant started to pace in front of the bathroom door.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

...

Everyone seemed ready to go at Tomika's words, but Mason stopped them. "What about the rats, though? Surely Deaton wouldn't be killing them? And there is no physical trauma as far as we can tell," he added.

"We even asked Mrs. McCall to check," Liam added.

"McCall?" Teresa murmured, frowning as she looked to Agent McCall.

"Oh, _that's_ what it is," Tomika said, looking as though a light bulb had gone off above her head. She looked between Scott and Agent McCall, then shook her head. "I should've guessed sooner; you've got the same crooked jaw," she said, Teresa nodding beside her in agreement.

"Can we focus on the task at hand?" Rafe pointed out, not entirely pleased that they'd worked out his relationship to both Melissa and Scott already.

He wasn't trying to hide his family from them, but he'd seen the curiosity of the recruits for himself and they were relentless with new information. Rafe wondered if he should alert Melissa to the fact that they would all possibly be bearing down on her for information. He figured she'd be able to handle it as she'd handled every other aspect of her life: with grit, determination, and definitely without _his_ help.

"They're different things," Stiles murmured, oblivious to the past minute of conversation.

"What's different?" Derek asked, his voice louder and quietening the others around them as they looked to Stiles curiously.

"I don't know that these are all connected events. There's four separate issues: the rats are dying mainly in this area of the forest," Stiles said, drawing a circle around the area. "The Nemeton's over here," he added, indicating to the Nemeton deeper in the forest. "Mr. Forrester's farm is practically on the outskirts of town," he said, again indicating and everyone following his finger while trying to follow his point. "While the hellhound's been at the school for the most part, right?" Stiles asked over his shoulder, indicating further down on the map to Beacon Hills High School.

"Yeah, he was there during the last lacrosse training session," Scott said, Liam and Mason nodding beside him.

"On that note: Scott, _why_ were you training newbies in the _dark_ in _Beacon Hills?!_ Seriously, dude?" Stiles added incredulously.

"Later, Stiles," Derek prompted him gently.

"Right, later. So... where's the hellhound now? We need to talk with him, and he's going to do that little chest check thing of his on me. We also need a group to investigate the rats and see if there's a cause. Someone needs to go with Mr. Forrester as well. Another group needs to talk to Deaton and see if you can get him to spill about the Nemeton and what the hell's going on there."

"What are your suggested groups?" Sean asked, curious to know how Stiles would split them up.

Stiles turned, considered each person for a moment, and then he grinned. "All right. Team leaders are: Scott for Deaton and the Nemeton, Lydia for Mr. Forrester, Malia for the rats, and myself with the hellhound."

"You're putting me in charge of _chickens?_ " Lydia asked incredulously.

"Would you prefer the rats?" Stiles asked pointedly.

Lydia still didn't look entirely pleased, but nodded reluctantly. "Fine. Next time, I had better be in charge of something better than _chickens_."

"Understood," Stiles said with a nod. "Sean, Mohammed, Ari, Marcie, and Grant, you're with Scott.

"Sara, Jade, Li, Kuhle, and - god help us all - Tomika, you're with Lydia. Tomika and Lydia, don't you dare start your plans for world domination until _after_ you've dealt with Mr. Forrester."

Lydia looked over at Tomika in interest. Tomika grinned and winked back at her.

"Mason, Liam, Yukimi, Jorge, Yelena, you're with Malia. Uh, use your judgement when listening to Malia, okay?" he added, when Malia looked a little too pleased at the prospect of being team leader. Malia scowled at him, but Stiles just grinned and continued. "Derek, Parrish, Tasha, Okami, Caleb, you're with me."

"What about us?" Teresa asked, Mia beside her.

"You're on communications with Agent McCall and the Sheriff," Stiles said. "We need to keep in contact and know what's happening, and I'd prefer to know if we're all going to end up in the forest without accidentally killing each other."

"What's your reasoning for the groups?" Sean asked as the others started to move to their groups, no one else questioning Stiles' logic.

Stiles had expected this question from either McCall or Sean and nodded, taking a deep breath before answering. "Scott is leader because Deaton will probably let his guard down around him. Mohammed and yourself are two of the calmer and more level-headed of our groups, and _trust me_ , you need all the patience you can get when dealing with Deaton. I figured Ari would be good as a backup to negotiate or, y'know, do her siren thing if he gets particularly cryptic. Marcie and Grant can look through Deaton's stuff while he's preoccupied with the questions in case he's lying.

"Lydia is team leader because if I hadn't assigned her that role, she would have ended up with it anyway. If there's something weird going on at Mr. Forrester's, then I'm hoping Sara will be able to see whatever that is with her magic. Tomika and Jade are both banshees with more experience than Lydia, so I'm sure they'll either be able to sense more than Lydia or the three of them together will figure out _something_ from pure will alone. Li and Kuhle because... well, Li can impersonate an officer if anything goes wrong, and Kuhle looks older than he is so he'll be able to go with it.

"Malia's team leader because she knows the forest better than most, and she, Mason, and Liam have been following the rats for the past two or three weeks. I figure Jorge would have a better sense of smell in regards to blood, if there is any, and Yelena can help him investigate things with a clearer head than the other three. Yukimi is there to ensure they don't rip each others' throats out.

"For myself, I'm still not entirely pleased about going to a hellhound and letting them pull something out of my chest, so I've gone with the werewolves as backup and Parrish as mediator and translator," Stiles finished, and looked to Sean for any further questions or comments.

Sean looked from Stiles to the rest of the group. After a long moment of silence, he nodded in agreement. "I hope it works out that way. We'll find out soon enough."

...

The Sheriff returned as they were all sorting out the tactical gear they'd need, from vests and torches, to two-way radios, guns and tasers. He wasn't entirely surprised to find his son in the middle of it all, rationing out weapons and vests and looking, for all intents and purposes, to be in charge of the whole situation.

For all that Rafe and Sean were both seniors within the FBI, neither one seemed to mind that a nineteen-year-old was practically running their investigation. To be fair, the Sheriff doubted that either man would have been able to stop Stiles anyway.

"We have a problem," the Sheriff said, drawing everyone's attention.

"Well, I wouldn't say _problem_ ," a voice drawled behind him, somewhere between amused and offended.

Lydia stiffened at the voice and she looked over to the doorway to see Jackson standing there with Ethan and Isaac behind him.

The Sheriff ignored Jackson and continued, "The _problem_ is that Gerard Argent has been spotted in town, and someone's robbed Mrs. Gawler; the suspect matches Kate Argent's description. Mrs. Gawler's okay; she scared Argent off with wolfsbane bullets when she shifted," he added.

Most of the recruits recognised Kate Argent's name from Derek Hale's file as the woman who had burned his family alive. They all looked to him in varying degrees of worry, unease, and pity.

Stiles grabbed Derek's hand and squeezed gently in support, then he looked to Jackson, Ethan, and Isaac. "How did you three find us?"

"Easy, we followed the scent of _loser_ down the hallway," Jackson said, rolling his eyes.

More than five people snarled at his comment, bristling at his tone. Stiles tried not to laugh at the werewolf's surprised expression. "Nice to see you too, Whittemore. I assume you're not in Beacon Hills for a holiday?" he added, looking between the three werewolves with a raised eyebrow.

"We're here to help," Isaac said from behind Jackson, putting a hand on his shoulder.

On the other side of him, Ethan did the same thing. Stiles watched curiously as a couple of emotions flashed across Jackson's face and he realised that the werewolf was terrified. Jackson had escaped Beacon Hills almost four years ago now, and yet here he was again, probably pulled back by some force he didn't understand nor want. Jackson's small pack was probably the only reason he hadn't gone running to escape that force completely.

"Thank you, we appreciate it. Can you three patrol and report back to communications with anything you come across? We're expecting more than just the Argents," Stiles added, nodding to the two-way radios. "Map's on the wall; you're welcome to chart your own route, though I've got a few ideas if you need," he added, offering but not implying they couldn't do it themselves.

Jackson walked into the room with Ethan and Isaac, though he stopped short when he saw Lydia. "Lydia? I... I didn't scent you," Jackson said, his façade dropping away in an instant.

Lydia plastered a smile on her face. "A few things have changed since you left, Jackson; I guess my scent's one of them," she added, her voice firm.

Stiles noticed that Tomika was gripping Lydia's hand firmly, as a show of support and friendship rather than anything else. Not yet, at least.

Jackson seemed to realise that this wasn't the time or place, nodded briefly, and continued to over to the map on the wall. The three werewolves looked at the map, Isaac's chin hooked over Jackson's shoulder, and Ethan's body a firm line against Jackson's.

Stiles continued to ration items, flitting between people to make sure they'd all be all right, before looking at the communications setup that McCall and the Sheriff were working on.

"Hey, Stilinski. Isaac's got an idea for a route but we want to compare it to yours," Jackson called out after a moment.

"You show me yours, I'll show you mine?" Stiles snickered.

Scott and Li groaned, Lydia and Tomika rolled their eyes, and the Sheriff shook his head. For the most part, people ignored Stiles, already used to his particular brand of humour or too busy preparing for the night ahead.

Isaac waited until Stiles was beside them to describe the route he'd worked out. "Jackson can patrol North to South; Ethan South to North, and I can go to the groups between the different areas," he suggested, showing the path with his finger.

"That's a lot of distance to cover," Stiles said.

"Isaac's fast," Jackson said, almost defensively.

"All right. We'll probably end up at the hospital at some point, either because of injuries or just the usual random crap that goes on there, so include that in your patrol. Can you add the school in, just in case? There's nothing that _should_ be happening there, but too much shit's happened there to rule it out."

"We're leaving now," Lydia called over her shoulder, leading her group out of the room to where Mr. Forrester was waiting for them.

"Go ahead and start patrolling," Jackson said to Isaac and Ethan. "Contact me the _second_ you need anything, all right?"

Isaac nuzzled against his neck briefly and Ethan squeezed his shoulder, then they were both gone. Stiles was curious, but decided it wasn't the time to ask. Besides, Jackson would probably claw him to death before he finished asking the question.

"The only reason I came back to this hellhole was because of those two. Don't make me regret it," Jackson said, a warning in his tone that if _anything_ happened to Isaac or Ethan, he would hold Stiles personally responsible.

"I won't," he said, serious as he nodded firmly in understanding and agreement. Then Stiles grinned. "I guess you are everyone's type, huh?"

Jackson smirked. "Of course I am," he said, grabbing a two-way radio on his way out.

Stiles waited until Jackson left before going to his group, where Parrish was putting his vest on and Derek was standing with Caleb, Tasha, and Okami, all four already wearing their own vests. "Ready to go?"

They all nodded in return. Stiles hugged his father before he left, grabbing his things on the way out. Piling into the BHPD van they'd been provided with, Parrish started the engine and pulled out of the parking lot, heading towards the last known whereabouts of the hellhound.

...

End of the eighteenth chapter.

Author's note: Okami, Tasha, and Caleb's backstories

Okami, Tasha, and Caleb knew of each other - their senses weren't _that_ limited as omegas - but they usually stayed out of each other's way because three omegas in one space without an Alpha was a recipe for disaster. Rafe knew about them being werewolves, but he's their boss and not their Alpha.

Tasha is from Texas, and is a born 'wolf. Her pack was destroyed by hunters when she was an adult and she felt her status change from beta to omega in the same instant. She still has no idea who killed her pack. Her anchor is justice.

Okami is Japanese-American and was born in New York. Okami was bitten on one of her first jobs for the FBI but she didn't include the red glowing eyes and the bite she'd received in her report. Since the bite was gone the next day, and she'd killed the guy anyway (accidental decapitation _did_ have to go in her report), it didn't seem real let alone believable to anyone else. She found information online to help her through the changes, and survived her first full moon in her building's basement, as far away from the moon as possible. Okami's anchor is her late grandfather. (She unintentionally gave away her Alpha status to help a werewolf while on a job, but felt better as an omega without the Alpha drive to create a pack.)

Caleb refuses to tell anyone where he's from. He's a bitten 'wolf as well, and his transition and first full moon weren't as smooth as Okami's as his Alpha was sadistic and had too much power over him. At the first chance he could get, Caleb ran as far away from his Alpha as possible, until their call was a dull ache at the back of his mind and somewhat easier to forget. When he accepted Stiles as Alpha, his headache disappeared. His anchor is freedom and his sense of self.

...

If you want to read how I think Jackson and Isaac meet, I wrote 'Home is where pack is' a while back (now posted on FFNet). Just pretend that Ethan tries to get as far away from BH as possible and ends up in London as well, okay?


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen

...

"So do we just start calling out for him? Here, hellhound! C'mere boy!" Stiles called.

"We want to find the hellhound in a _calm manner_ , not have him attack us because you're treating him like a dog," Parrish muttered.

"I smell something," Tasha said, stopping abruptly. "Like you, but... more ash," she said to Parrish, wrinkling her nose.

Derek sniffed as well. "We're near my house. It burnt down a long time ago," he added in explanation.

Stiles frowned. "Where better to hide than in the ruins of a burnt house? The hellhound obviously knows he smells similar. He could stay hidden for ages in there," he said.

He could see that Derek wasn't entirely pleased or convinced, but he was still willing to try. The Hale house itself had been condemned and knocked down by the state, but there were still the ruins of the basement and the escape tunnels beneath the house that the hellhound could be hiding in. After a moment, Derek nodded.

"HQ, we're heading to the Hale house. Possible location of the hellhound," Parrish said into the radio.

Stiles led the way with Derek beside him.

...

Sara was driving the van, following Mr. Forrester to his farm once he'd _finally_ stopped giving them all his complete life story. Lydia was drawing a pattern on the window of the van, distracted by the desire to get every line right. It shouldn't have been hard since there wasn't much detail to the drawing itself - unlike the Nemeton - but her hand was shaking.

"Lydia? Hey, we're here," Li said, shaking Lydia gently.

Lydia came back to herself, blinking rapidly. On the other side of the van, Kuhle was getting both Tomika and Jade's attention, both banshees having faded out as well. Tomika pulled out the notebook she'd kept between her shirt and vest, frowning as she looked at the drawing she'd projected onto the pages. Jade unlocked her phone and listened to the recording she'd left behind, frowning as well. They both looked to Lydia in unison, which was creepy enough, but then Tomika held out her notebook.

"Do you recognise this?" she asked, revealing the exact same drawing that Lydia had completed on the van window, her breath still fogging the glass behind her.

It consisted of two diagonal lines and two straight lines, making an exaggerated number three if she squinted a bit. Lydia felt like she _should_ know what it meant, but she couldn't put her finger on it. Lydia didn't have a chance to respond because then the van door slid open and Sara looked in.

"Are you lot coming or do I have to listen to Mr. Forrester bemoan the loss of his favourite prize-winning chicken for the third time tonight?"

They climbed out of the van and followed Mr. Forrester to the back of his property. The Sheriff had been right about him being lonely, because he immediately offered his guests drinks, food, and continued to talk about _everything_ , as though he'd never get another chance. Lydia vaguely wondered if Mrs. Gawler and Mr. Forrester would get along.

Lydia watched Sara as she murmured under her breath. She recognised the language as archaic Latin and knew the words she spoke, but Lydia also knew that without a spark of power or magic, she would never be able to recreate exactly what Sara was doing herself.

Beside her, Li was changing their features to look like a combination of various animals, focusing mostly on their nose so they could pick out between the scents of chickens, humans, emotions, and find the proper scent that belonged to Mr. Forrester's chicken thief. To be honest, it wasn't exactly the way Li had envisioned their first FBI case.

"There," Sara murmured, letting go of the chicken feathers she'd gathered.

As she had done with Stiles earlier, a line of light shot out from the chicken coop and towards the forest. It was a spell meant for two people, so without Stiles' magic, it wasn't as strong nor as long. However, Sara was pretty pleased at her ability to recreate so much of the spell alone.

Lydia's head tilted to the side when she saw the light, but mostly from what she could _hear_ coming from the line. Stepping around Li, she started to follow the light, unaware that the others were still in the coop behind her.

"Girl, we're working on your control later," Tomika muttered under her breath, setting off after Lydia.

...

"The rats died along here," Liam said, coming to a stop. He and Mason looked around, in case there were more rats, frowning when they didn't see anything.

Malia sniffed and ran ahead. She was a little surprised to see Jorge beside her rather than Liam or Mason, but then Malia noticed the fangs at the side of his mouth. "Vampire?"

"Of a sort," Jorge said with a brief nod. "Don't make any Twilight jokes, please," he said, almost desperately.

Malia frowned. "What's Twilight?"

"Never mind," Jorge said quickly, looking relieved.

Malia was confused why he would be _relieved_ that she _didn't_ know something. Usually people were annoyed when she _didn't_ know what they were talking about. Malia shrugged to herself, thinking that people - whether or not human - were weird.

Jorge stopped a second before Malia scented it, and she turned abruptly to face the same direction, sniffing and recognising the far-too familiar scent.

"Your nose is better than mine," Malia said curiously. "Not by much."

"Thanks?" Jorge said. "Uh, don't watch, this isn't going to be pretty," he added, picking up one of the rats and biting into it, blood gushing forth.

Yelena and Yukimi turned away, while Liam and Mason chorused a lengthy ' _ewww_ ' from behind Malia. She watched, not at all perturbed by the sight, and waited impatiently for Jorge to finish eating. Why he was eating in the middle of their mission, she had no idea, but it reminded Malia that she was kind of hungry as well.

Jorge pulled the rat away from his mouth and dropped it, which Malia thought was a waste of food, and wiped at his bloodied mouth and chin. "Sorry. It's better when I go straight for the source, rather than trying to sniff it out, especially in a forest like this," he added in explanation.

"What did you do?" Yelena asked curiously, handing him her handkerchief.

He accepted it with a nod of thanks, wiping off the remainder of blood. "It's difficult to explain. My abuela says that there are memories in blood, which sort of fits?" When everyone just stared at him blankly, Jorge added, "I know what killed the rats."

...

"I'm telling you, there has to be an explanation. Dr. Deaton wouldn't do this. He's a good person. He's a vet," Scott added as they headed from the van to the veterinary clinic.

"So what? A person's occupation has no correlation as to whether they're a good person or not," Marcie said, getting a little annoyed at the werewolf's blinding optimism.

"Children, behave," Sean muttered.

Marcie rolled her eyes and disappeared, enjoying Scott's look of surprise _again_. Grant hung back with Marcie as the others headed inside, waiting for the opportunity to get in without alerting Deaton to their presence.

"Dr. Deaton? We have some questions for you," Sean said, showing the vet his badge.

Deaton looked as impassive as always and he simply nodded. Then he looked to Scott. "I'm surprised at you for this, Scott."

Scott's eyes widened. "But I didn't do anything?!"

"You've brought a threat directly through my front door. It is not something I appreciate, and I am very disappointed in you."

At his words, Scott hung his head.

Ari frowned at the tone of voice Deaton was using. It was far too similar to her own voice as a siren, almost as if the veterinarian was hypnotising the young werewolf. "Scott. Listen to me, Scott," she said, trying to get Scott's attention on her voice instead of Deaton's.

"Scott, these people are a threat to me. _Don't disappoint me again_ ," Deaton said, his voice just that little bit louder and more familiar than the siren's.

As Deaton ran down the hall, Scott growled under his breath and looked at the group with burning red eyes.

Sean nodded to Mohammed, who took after Deaton at a run. Scott started to attack Sean, who in turn had his skin protected by a thick layer of bark. Ari was still trying to get Scott's attention. His eyes flickered between red and brown any time she got close enough, so she hoped this fight would be over sooner rather than later.

"Holy shit!" Grant gasped, eyes wide when he saw what was happening inside.

"Say your prayers later, Grant. C'mon," Marcie snapped, tugging at his vest so they could follow after Deaton and Mohammed.

Grant nodded and ran after Marcie, following the footsteps she left in the gravel. In his two-way radio, Grant let HQ know what had happened.

...

HQ was set up with maps and cameras on every screen, everyone listening to the police scanner for reports from the police officers patrolling the streets. They had been told to patrol, report, and not engage. The Sheriff refused to let his officers die if he could help it, and considering he had both the FBI and every supernatural person he knew on hand, then he could sure as hell help it.

"Isaac, you're closest to the vet clinic. Can you get there and help get Scott under control?" the Sheriff asked.

"No problem, Sheriff," Isaac replied, clipping his radio to his belt and running towards the clinic at a faster pace.

The police scanner went off with a location and sighting.

"Jackson, Gerard's been sighted near the warehouse district. Keep your eyes peeled," Teresa said, getting an affirmative response a second later.

"Sara, what's going on down there?" McCall asked, looking between the map and silent radio. They hadn't had a report since the group had arrived at Mr. Forrester's place and it was setting him on edge.

"Jorge found out what happened to the rats," Mason reported.

"Go ahead," Mia replied, her notebook ready to get the details and relay the information on as necessary.

" _Shit!_ " Ethan's voice came over the radio urgently, panting heavily as he ran, a barrage of bullets sounding in the background. "The Calaveras are here."

There was a knock at the door, startling most of them as they were concentrating on their tasks. The Sheriff turned around, relieved when he saw Chris Argent.

"Sheriff," Chris said with a nod. "McCall," he said, faltering slightly at the sight of Rafe.

"Argent," Rafe replied.

"You two know each other?" the Sheriff asked, looking between them. "And you didn't know about werewolves sooner?" he asked Rafe, though he knew he sounded a little judgemental for someone who'd only found out about werewolves three years prior.

"I'm good at my job," Chris said, his eyes still trained on Rafe.

"Sir, you're not going to believe what we found," Sara's voice came over the radio, the disbelief in her voice grabbing Rafe's attention immediately.

He ignored Chris' presence - _he'd deal with him later,_ ** _if_** _the man stuck around this time_ \- and Rafe looked to the map, his two-way radio in his hand. "What is it? Are you all okay?"

"We're fine. Mostly. Uh... Sir, we found out who stole Mr. Forrester's chickens," Sara said, sounding as though she needed to come to terms with the sight before her, and doing that meant spelling out every detail before she believed it herself.

"Who is it?" Rafe asked, trying not to sound impatient.

It was Lydia's voice that came through the radio next, her voice almost dream-like despite the crackling noise of the radio. " _Allison_."

Rafe heard a gasp behind him and he turned abruptly to see Chris with his eyes wide and possibly full of unshed tears. "Give us your exact location; we're sending someone there straight away," Rafe replied, not looking away from Chris.

On the Sheriff's radio, the silence was broken by Stiles screaming.

"Uh, sir? We found the hellhound," Parrish said.

...

End of the nineteenth chapter.

Author's note: Rafe's backstory

Rafe has met Chris (as well as the other Argents and/or their lackeys) several times over the course of his career at the FBI. Most of the time, there's been suspicious activity and the Argents just _happen_ to be in the area. Annoyingly, those same activities seem to stop around the same time the Argents leave.

Chris might tell him the truth eventually.


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty

...

Stiles went quiet as they headed down into the creepy-as-fuck basement in the ruins of the Hale house. There was no sign of life, but that rarely meant a thing nowadays. He shone his torch through the blackened ruins, slowly and carefully, not wanting to miss anything important. Behind him, the werewolves were walking silently, sniffing gently. They were all tense, scenting the grief and pain and anguish, the wolfsbane and blood that had brought Peter back to life. It was an unpleasant combination for Stiles' nose, let alone that of the werewolves, and Derek especially.

Parrish took point as they went deeper into the basement and through to the escape tunnels. There was a trail of ash and soot on the walls, their footsteps sounding loudly in the concrete tunnels as they followed the path to the hellhound. Parrish stopped abruptly and looked around, his eyes glowing orange. "He's here."

"Okay, good. Can you tell him we're here to do the check thing?" Stiles asked.

Parrish nodded and let out a snarling noise, sounds and words interspersed between the noise. Stiles watched in fascination as a whole new language seemed to be created before his very eyes. There was an answering snarl from further down the tunnels, louder and with more snarl than words.

"He's agreed to check you over," Parrish said.

"Are you sure? That sounded like a lot of _grrr_ for a yes or no question," Stiles said, his heart beating a little faster than normal.

"I'm sure," Parrish replied.

"I'm going with you," Derek said, his tone leaving no room for discussion or argument.

"Thanks, Der," Stiles said, squeezing his hand briefly.

Derek smiled briefly and they walked down the tunnel to where the hellhound was waiting, the three werewolves and Parrish walking behind cautiously.

Stopping at the entrance to the hellhound's hideout, there was another lot of growling noises. Stiles looked over his shoulder to where Parrish was standing.

"You need to take off your vest, otherwise he can't check properly. Kevlar isn't great for this," Parrish said.

"Stiles isn't taking off the only thing protecting him from being mauled to death by this guy," Derek snarled.

"He's not going to maul Stiles to death any more than I would," Parrish said, rolling his eyes.

"You threatened to maul him to death on the ride over," Okami pointed out, Tasha snorting in amusement beside her.

"Uh, guys?" Caleb called, both Parrish and Derek turning towards him with almost identical glares. "Stiles has apparently made his decision," he said, nodding to where Stiles was approaching the hellhound, sans vest. "Don't you have to report this to HQ?"

Parrish sighed and nodded, unclipping the radio from his belt.

It took all of Derek's willpower not to go after Stiles. He watched as the hellhound stood to his full height and his hand lit up with bright orange flames. Without any kind of warning, the hellhound plunged his hand into Stiles' chest, and Stiles _screamed_. For Derek, all other noise was drowned out. He was physically held back by Okami, Tasha, and Caleb, the werewolves practically wrapping themselves around him to stop him from moving forward.

"He'll be fine, honey," Tasha reassured Derek.

"If he's not, then we'll help you kill the hellhound, okay?" Caleb added.

"Trust Stiles; trust that he's made the right choice," Okami said, her voice firm.

"Of course I trust Stiles; I don't trust the hellhound," Derek muttered, not taking his eyes away from Stiles.

The hellhound snarled and growled something, but as Parrish didn't respond, it seemed to be for the hellhound's own benefit rather than any sort of conversation. There was another snarling growling noise and then the hellhound pulled his hand out of Stiles' chest, a black shadowy _thing_ clutched in his grip. He immediately turned to volcanic stone, and Stiles dropped to his knees, gasping and gulping for air.

" _Holy shit_ ," Stiles groaned.

Okami, Tasha, and Caleb finally let Derek go, and he was by Stiles' side in a heartbeat.

"Stiles, are you all right?" Derek asked urgently, putting his hand on Stiles' side to drain his pain. He frowned when nothing happened, no black lines, no sense of pain or hurt. Derek tried again, pulling away when Stiles started _laughing_. "Uh, Stiles? Are you okay?"

"I feel _great_. Der, I think he just... he took the darkness away! It's not there. See?" Stiles said, sitting up properly and putting Derek's hand on his chest. "I feel light as a freaking feather," he said, grinning broadly.

Derek looked from his hand on Stiles' chest, to Stiles' face, sniffing briefly. There was no scent of darkness that usually hung around him, and even the bags under his eyes no longer seemed as puffy, his shoulders and body loose.

"That didn't come out with you though, did it?" Tasha asked, frowning.

Stiles looked over at the other four and shook his head slowly. "Well, yes and no. It was in us when we went in there; Scotty and I have had that darkness for a few years now. Maybe us coming back out with the darkness still in us woke him up? Either way, I'm not sad he's taken it." Stiles stood up slowly, brushing his body off and putting his Kevlar vest back on. "If it's not what he's looking for, then he'll probably wake up again. I hope he's sleeping at least, that's a shitty thing to be awake through," he said, far too tempted to poke the statuesque hellhound.

" _Who is it?_ " Rafe's voice came from Parrish's radio, sounding impatient and worried.

" _Allison_ ," Lydia replied, her voice sounding distant.

Stiles blinked and looked at Derek in surprise, his own emotions mirrored back on Derek's face. "Let's go. Uh, we'd better bring this guy with us; I doubt he wants to be stuck down here for any longer than he has been."

Caleb, Okami, and Tasha all moved forward to carry the hellhound out of the tunnels and basement. Over the radio, Parrish took note of the coordinates that were given to Rafe, then let HQ know they were heading in the same direction.

...

"The Nemeton's trying to replace the power that's been stolen from it. It's not _meaning_ to kill the rats, but it's getting whatever power it can from the creatures in the forest. It started off small, with a hive of ants and some bees, but so much power has been taken from the Nemeton that it needs more to balance it out," Jorge explained as they headed through the forest towards the Nemeton.

"We're not heading into a trap, are we?" Liam asked nervously. "We've got power, and we're heading straight for the thing that has been draining power from things."

"I'm also a little concerned that _rats_ have any sort of power to begin with," Mason added, frowning.

Jorge shrugged. "All creatures have life, therefore they have power. Besides, the power has to be given willingly in order to balance the Nemeton. The animals are sacrificing themselves."

"How much more power does the Nemeton need?" Malia asked, frowning.

"More than the rats can provide," Yukimi said suddenly, stopping at the top of the next incline and looking to the forest below.

A herd of deer were dead, their bodies lying peacefully on the ground, strewn across the path they were taking.

"HQ, we're going to need help at the Nemeton sooner rather than later," Yukimi said into her radio.

"There's a whole herd of deer that're dead," Liam called in the background.

"The animals are sacrificing themselves and their power to restore balance, but the tree needs more and it needs to be willing. Anyone got any ideas?" Yukimi asked as they navigated around the herd and continued towards the Nemeton.

"What happened with the Druid they were after? Could he be convinced to give up his power willingly?" Yelena asked.

While Yelena was a human, there was a glint to her eye that made Malia think of a wild animal instead. "I like you," Malia said, grinning.

...

At the clinic, Scott was still fighting Sean, gouging five thick lines into the bark of his arm. Sean hissed in pain, sap running from the wounds. He didn't have time to recover as the door was flung open, another werewolf practically tumbling through the doorway and into Scott, all in the space of a second.

Scott snarled and swiped at the werewolf. The curly-haired werewolf - _Zach? Isaac? Something like that_ , Sean thought - dodged his claws with surprising speed, his mouth set in a firm line of determination.

Ari seemed to be awake again - Scott had knocked her aside a few minutes ago - and blinked at the sight of the two werewolves. She tried to call to Scott again. "Scott, look at what you're doing. Isaac doesn't want to hurt you."

Scott's eyes flickered from red to brown to red again, taking almost a full second to return. Encouraged by this, Ari moved closer to the two werewolves, keeping an eye on where they were going to step to make sure she wouldn't be knocked out again.

"You're his friend, Scott. You don't want to hurt your friend, do you?" Ari asked, her voice soft and lilting, drawing more brown from Scott's eyes than red.

"Come on, Scott. _Please_ ," Isaac begged.

"Howl," Ari said in her normal voice.

"Uh, what?"

"Howl; it will get through to him faster," Ari promised.

Isaac avoided Scott's claws again, again, and then dodged a second too slow, one claw cutting through his skin like a hot knife through butter. He howled in pain.

Ari continued to talk to Scott, telling him how he was hurting his friend and he needed to stop, to regain control. His eyes were filtering back to brown when on the radio at Sean's belt, Lydia's voice filtered through. " _Allison_."

Scott's eyes turned brown completely and he looked around the room in confusion, seeing that Deaton was nowhere in sight. His eyes widened when he saw Sean and Isaac's injuries. "What did I do?"

...

Ethan had been on route to the hospital so he continued that way, hoping the Calaveras would have the sense to _not_ hurt him in public. Araya was there, as were her two sons and daughters, and the five crew that went everywhere with them. There were others within the Calaveras' organisation, of course, but the organisation itself still needed to be run, so only a select few were allowed to join the hunt.

"Keep running, boy. We will always find you!" the matriarch called out. "You know the blue eyes are not for innocents," Araya added.

Ethan's eyes flashed blue, even as he tried to ignore her words, tried not to think of the accident that had led to his blue eyes in the first place. He sighed in relief when he saw the hospital up ahead. Araya saw it in the same instant, swearing in a mix of Spanish and English and urging the cars to go faster. Ethan ran faster still, almost smashing into the hospital doors as he ran inside. Skidding to a halt in front of the nurse's station, Ethan took a moment to catch his breath. Now that he was actually here, he had no idea what to say, and he tried to think of something that would make sense, let alone be believed.

"Ethan?" Melissa asked, frowning at seeing the young man in Beacon Hills, let alone in the hospital.

She'd seen him after Aiden's death and helped patch his wounds, as they hadn't healed properly on their own. Melissa had left Ethan sleeping in a hospital bed and when she'd returned less than three hours later, the bed was empty and Ethan was gone.

Ethan looked up at her, his eyes widening when he heard the hospital doors open behind him and scented the Calaveras. "We need to go."

"Oh, no, we do not," Melissa said. "I have patients and I'm not leaving them unprotected against whatever's about to happen," she snapped.

Ethan was surprised at the ferocity in her voice, but he stepped aside with a brief sneer. "Be my guest."

Melissa ignored the young man's tone and walked to the Calaveras. Araya looked at her stern expression and returned the gaze with one of her own.

"That boy is ours," Araya said firmly.

"That _boy_ belongs to no one, especially not you. If you have no injuries or illnesses, you can leave my hospital. You are _not_ hurting these people," Melissa practically snarled, obviously having spent far too much time around werewolves.

"That boy is not a person," Araya said, her eyes bright with anger and her accent thick.

"He's more of a person than you are right now!" Melissa snapped.

"Is everything all right here, Mrs. McCall?" a deep voice asked.

The Calaveras looked up to see a large bulking man standing beside Melissa, his face stern and his biceps bigger than their heads. He wore the outfit of a security guard, and looked ready to physically throw every single one of them outside, probably all at once.

Araya clenched her jaw. "We will take this outside. When the boy is ready to face us, we will be waiting."

Melissa waited until the group of ten had left the hospital foyer before turning to the security guard beside her. She patted his arm gently. "It's all right, Teddy. Just make sure they don't come back in, okay?"

Teddy nodded firmly and moved to sit where he could keep an eye on the door and the group outside.

"You hired security guards?" Ethan asked, surprised.

"The Board thought it a necessary expense considering the amount of attacks we've had in the last five years. I have patients to check on, so you can tell me what's going on along the way," Melissa said, grabbing a stack of files from the nurse's station and walking, not waiting or looking to see if Ethan would follow.

Looking out through the foyer doors, Ethan saw the Calaveras lounging against their cars, ready and waiting, as promised. He looked away from them and hurried after Melissa.

...

Jackson found Gerard. Or rather, Gerard found him. The elderly man smirked at him from the driver's seat of his car, Jackson pinned against a warehouse wall. Jackson glared at Gerard the whole time he spent destroying the corrugated iron wall behind him, wishing that looks could kill. The old bastard just smirked back at him.

"We worked well together, didn't we? Why not join me again?" Gerard asked, even as he pressed his foot on the pedal, driving his car further into Jackson's abdomen.

"Don't say that like I had a choice!" Jackson snapped, Gerard sneering back at him.

The wall behind him finally gave way and Jackson fell flat onto his back, turning his head to the side as Gerard drove forward over him entirely. As soon as the exhaust pipe was out of his sight, Jackson was up and racing towards the forest.

He heard Lydia's whisper of Allison, but more importantly, Jackson heard Isaac's howl of pain. He growled under his breath and, ignoring the rest of his patrol, he followed Isaac's scent instead.

Jackson was going to _kill_ whoever had hurt Isaac.

...

"Allison," Lydia whispered, her eyes wide.

Her friend was crouched low in front of one of the caves in the forest, further outside of Beacon Hills' territorial lines than Mr. Forrester's home. Lydia didn't even notice the chicken feathers that were scattered around the entrance of the cave, stepping forward until she was only a few metres away from Allison.

"Stay back!" Allison snarled, a threat and warning in her tone all at once.

"Ally?" Lydia asked, confused.

"You're not in the Wild Hunt anymore," Sara called out. "It's over."

"The Wild Hunt _never_ ends," Allison growled under her breath, not believing the witch.

There was movement behind her, and Lydia could have been knocked over with a chicken feather when she saw who was behind Allison.

"Erica, Boyd. You're alive," Lydia said, not at all proud of the way her voice turned into an awful croak or the unbidden tears that sprang to her eyes.

She pressed her hands to her eyes to stop the tears, trembling as she was overwhelmed and overcome with emotions that she couldn't even hope to name. Lydia hadn't even realised that their deaths had hit her just as hard as Allison's until that very moment.

"L-Lydia?" Allison asked, her fierce expression fading at the sight of her trembling. "How do I know this isn't another trick?" she asked a second later, her voice hard and with an edge to it that Lydia had never heard before.

"What's the Wild Hunt?" Li asked, frowning. "Stiles didn't explain it very well, apart from the train station thing. Well, that wasn't explained very well either, really," they added, their frown deepening.

"Stiles?" Erica asked, one hand clutching Allison's shoulder, the other Boyd's hand. "He's here?"

Jade seemed emboldened by her response and nodded. "He's not here right now, but he's dealing with a hellhound elsewhere in town. We can get him on the two-way?" she offered.

Boyd nodded for the three of them.

"Stilinski, you're needed as proof of life over here. There's a few people who seem invested in you being alive," Sara said over the radio.

Kuhle hid a laugh behind his fist at her disbelieving tone.

"Hey, Sara. Who's invested in me? What's going on?" Stiles asked.

"Batman?!" Erica almost squealed, Jade flinching back at the loud noise.

" _Erica?!_ Shit, Derek!" Stiles cursed as Derek's knees gave way at the sound of his pack member's voice.

"Derek's there too?" Boyd asked.

" _Boyd?!_ Holy... What the _fuck_ is happening? Fuck the Nemeton; _where are you?_ " Stiles demanded, his voice close to breaking.

"We can get to the Nemeton from here," Boyd called.

"Okay, we'll be there in ten... Maybe five," Stiles amended, seeing Derek's expression.

"HQ to all teams: rendezvous at the Nemeton in ten minutes. Report in if not possible," the Sheriff said. "We'll meet you there." He sure as hell wasn't missing _this_.

...

End of the twentieth chapter.


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty One

...

Lydia's group reached the Nemeton first, though they all stayed as far away from the tree stump as possible, Tomika sitting with her notebook on her lap, Jade eyeing the stump warily, and Lydia trying to keep her gaze on her friends instead. Erica and Boyd were standing protectively on either side of Allison, all three talking in soft voices that - despite her banshee talent to hear whispers and secrets - Lydia couldn't hear.

There was a commotion in the trees and Deaton burst forth, his eyes wide and sweat on his brow. Mohammed snarled and leapt through the broken tree trunks, landing on Deaton and pinning him to the ground.

Sara hurried to help Mohammed, binding the Druid to a tree with her magic. Mohammed requested a gag and Sara added that to her spell, Deaton's mouth clamping shut instantly. Kuhle hurried over to help, removing his belt and using it to wrap around Deaton's ankles as an extra precaution.

"Will you be all right without your belt?" Sara asked, looking amused.

Kuhle shrugged. "I'm sure my pants won't fall down completely. But if you have a spell handy, I would not refuse."

Sara laughed outright then, making Kuhle grin in response.

Mohammed stepped back once he was certain the Druid wouldn't be going anywhere and wouldn't be saying anything to coerce anyone else. He looked around to see where they were. "This is the beacon, the Nemeton?" he asked, looking between Sara and Kuhle, who nodded.

The three banshees were now circling the tree stump, their eyes glazed and expressions blank. While everyone was curious as to why they were circling the Nemeton, no one could bring themselves to ask.

"Where's Li?" Kuhle asked.

"Up here," Li called down from the tree they were sitting in. "There are people heading this way from several directions. They're in a rush."

"Who is it?" Erica asked.

Li jumped down from the tree and shrugged. "I'm good, but even I can't see through trees. Better to be prepared," they said, taking the taser from their belt.

Derek and Stiles' group arrived next, Derek's eyes widening at the sight of Allison and his two betas. Erica rushed past Allison and jumped on Derek, clinging to him. Stiles practically bowled Boyd over, crushing him in a hug.

"Nice to see you too, Stiles," Boyd said, patting his back.

"Nice?! It's the best damn thing in the world! What happened? Where were you? You both _died_. And so did you, Allison. What the hell?"

Allison allowed herself to be hugged next, Stiles practically shaking in her arms. "We'll tell you when everyone's here, okay?"

Stiles nodded reluctantly and stepped back. Derek was beside him in a moment, pulling Boyd into a firm hug and ignoring the scent of surprise coming from Boyd, Erica, and Allison.

"Yeah, Derek does that now. Not often enough, but it's worth it every time. Just enjoy it, dude," Stiles said, grinning at Boyd.

"Don't call me dude," he muttered, but hugged Derek tightly in return.

Isaac came through the trees next, and after a good five seconds, Scott skidded to a halt behind him. Marcie laughed, appearing in Isaac's arms, almost tumbling out of his grip with her laughter. "You owe us ten bucks, Mr. True Alpha!" Marcie crowed.

Scott went red in embarrassment, then his face paled on seeing Allison whole and alive and really, _really_ there. Erica and Boyd were beside Allison in a second, their hands tight in hers and giving her enough protection that even Scott, optimist and sometimes brick-for-brains, took the hint and didn't approach. Isaac stayed back as well, giving her the space she obviously needed. Allison's shoulders lost a bit of their tension and she smiled at Erica and Boyd gratefully.

"Who won?" Grant called from deeper in the forest.

Heavy footsteps echoed his words, the ground shaking around them. Derek was in front of Stiles in an instant, growling and ready to face whatever threat was coming for them.

"Calm down, guys. It's just Sean," Marcie said, grinning as she waved off their worries and fears with a ten dollar note in her hand.

As if on cue, Sean came through the trees. He was an actual tree, closer to Treebeard than Groot, and Grant was sitting on one of his branches, holding on tightly. Grant slid down to the ground and brushed his pants off.

"Thank you, sir," Grant said, Sean shifting his body back to his human form.

"If there is a next time you have to escape with me, try _not_ to grab my throat so tightly," Sean said with a wince, rubbing at his aching neck.

"Sorry, sir."

Marcie muffled her snicker in her fist before taking Grant's wrist and leading him over to Isaac and Scott. "We totally won. Isaac's _seriously_ fast," she said, smiling.

Embarrassed at the praise, Isaac ducked his head.

Malia slipped out from between the trees, Liam and Mason following but not as quiet. Yukimi, Jorge, and Yelena walked out a slower pace, Jorge choosing to stick with his partner rather than running ahead and Yukimi deciding to keep an eye on both of the young adults. Mohammed walked over to Yukimi, talking in low tones, though he kept glancing over to Deaton every so often to ensure he hadn't escaped. Li and Kuhle headed over to the others, Li entertaining the group by changing their features at the insistence of the others.

"Please remember you're here as representatives of the FBI," Sean called, rubbing his temples with the start of a headache, migraine, or possibly a tumour. He didn't know which he preferred at that moment.

Jackson barrelled through the tree line, eyes blues and fangs out. He stopped suddenly at the sight of so many people, then looked over his shoulder to see where Gerard was. Satisfied that he'd lost him, Jackson went straight to Isaac and pulled him away from the others, inspecting him over and making sure he was all right. His wounds were still raw and pink, but he would be okay. Jackson snarled at Scott, only stopping when Isaac put a hand around his wrist.

"I'm okay, Jacks. I wouldn't lie," Isaac promised, pressing a kiss to the curve of his neck.

Jackson held Isaac close, his fingers twined through Isaac's curls. "Where's Ethan?" he asked, realising that he wasn't in the clearing.

"Still at the hospital with Mrs. McCall, last I heard. The Calaveras are outside, but Mrs. McCall refuses to let them in," Isaac said with a quick grin. "Ethan'll be safe with her."

Jackson mouth thinned, not entirely appeased. He remembered Scott's mother from his own time at the hospital as being a force to reckon with - she'd scared his father into submission, which was not a small feat - so Jackson supposed he could trust her to look after Ethan. Unclipping his two-way, he changed it to Ethan's frequency setting. "Ethan? You howl the _second_ you need anything, understood?"

"I will," Ethan replied. "Sorry, Mrs. McCall."

In the midst of this, Derek went alert, hearing something that Stiles couldn't. Derek looked into the forest, his eyes narrowing. The other were-creatures did the same, the clearing quiet apart from the steps of the banshees still circling the Nemeton stump. Derek sniffed, eyes roaming the trees, and in the next heartbeat, he looked up into the branches of a nearby tree. Stiles followed his line of sight, frowning as he tried to work out what was happening.

"Get out of the tree, Dad," Allison called, rolling her eyes.

The clearing was quiet enough that everyone heard Chris' small intake of breath. He dropped down from the branches a few seconds later.

In the wake of his arrival, the rest of the HQ team arrived, with the Sheriff going to Stiles, Derek, and Parrish immediately; McCall headed over to check on Scott; Teresa and Mia going to see Li's entertainment with the others.

Stiles watched Chris as he approached Allison, his footsteps uncertain and his expression _broken_. It was one of the few times he'd seen the man's mask crack, and Stiles felt decidedly uncomfortable watching their reunion, turning his face into Derek's shoulder instead. Chris practically collapsed into Allison's arms, Erica and Boyd's presence by her sides the only reason they both stayed upright, and Allison whispered to her father, the French words fast and low as she comforted him. Chris' sobs were silent, but they racked his body completely, and everyone turned away to give them a semblance of privacy.

"It's really them?" the Sheriff asked, sounding a mix of amazed and suspicious.

With werewolves and kanimas and werejaguars and whatever else Beacon Hills could manage to conjure up, he wouldn't be surprised if changelings were possible as well.

"It's them," Derek confirmed, nodding firmly. "They smell the same. I'd know if anything was different," he added.

"All right, Ally A; time for an explanation," Stiles called, impatient now that everyone had finally arrived and Chris seemed to be his usual compartmentalised self once more.

She shrugged. "We were caught in limbo - also known as the Wild Hunt for those idiots on the horses - and after all of the shit I went through in Beacon Hills, I refused to get on a train in the middle of nowhere without a damn good reason. I found Erica and Boyd hiding in the train station and we left the station when everyone else was preoccupied."

Stiles laughed, while around them, everyone else just looked confused. "The train station was weird as fuck, wasn't it?"

Allison nodded. "When the train left and the station disappeared, we just... kept going. The Ghost Riders hunted us sometimes, and we needed to put as much space between us and them as possible. I didn't know - didn't believe - we were really _here_ , in Beacon Hills. It still doesn't feel real," she added, looking around, and seeming apologetic when she saw her father's distraught expression.

"What about the chickens?" the Sheriff asked.

Allison shrugged. "We were hungry; the Ghost Hunters don't exactly provide a balanced meal, three times a day. I found the chickens, and..." she shrugged again, trailing off.

"Why didn't you eat the rats or the deer?" Malia asked. "They were right there and already dead. Was it because there was no chase?"

Boyd answered this time, shaking his head. "The Ghost Riders used dead animals to train their dogs. We didn't want to be dragged back to the station."

"It's still easy food if you're fast; I would've eaten them," Malia said with a feral grin.

"Who the hell are you anyway?" Erica snapped.

Malia didn't get a chance to respond because the hellhound burst through the trees, his body aflame. He startled everyone but ignored the cries of surprise and leapt across the clearing to Allison.

"Over my dead body," Chris snarled, aiming a crossbow at the hellhound.

"Wait!" Stiles yelled, running to stop Chris.

Isaac was faster and knocked Chris to the ground, the arrow flying out and missing the hellhound. Chris' eyes went wide and he writhed and thrashed under Isaac. "Let me go!"

The hellhound reached a fiery hand out to Allison, snarling and growling when Erica and Boyd blocked him.

"He's getting rid of the darkness!" Stiles called out.

Allison's eyes widened at his words and she nodded for Erica and Boyd to move. They did so reluctantly, both watching the hellhound with golden eyes. The hellhound reached into her chest. Allison let out a cry of pain, then held it back with no small amount of effort, tears filling her eyes. The hellhound made a few snarling and growling noises, again, more for his own benefit than anyone else's. Chris was still fighting Isaac, but Tasha, Okami, and Caleb were holding him down as well at Stiles' nod.

The hellhound retracted his hand from Allison's chest, a shadow clenched in his fist. He turned into volcanic ash instantly, a statue in the midst of everyone. Allison fell to her knees with a soft sob, tears trailing down her cheeks.

Slow and wary, the four werewolves stopped restraining Chris. He was up and next to Allison a second later, kneeling beside her and brushing her hair back from her face. "Allison? Are you okay?"

She looked up at her father, her eyes and cheeks wet with tears. Allison nodded and hugged Chris close, clinging to his shirt. "It's gone," she whispered over and over, the clearing silent enough that even the humans could hear her words clearly.

"Why hasn't the hellhound tried to get the darkness out of you three before?" the Sheriff asked, looking between Scott, Stiles, and Allison.

"He's been in Eichen House," Scott said.

"So was I," Stiles pointed out.

Parrish looked from the hellhound to where Deaton was still bound to a tree. He noticed that Argent's arrow had missed Deaton's throat by a mere three centimetres. "You knew where his cell was; you practically led the doctors there the last time he turned into a statue," he said, voice slow and careful as he tried to put the pieces together in his head.

Deaton, still bound and silenced, didn't reply.

"The doctors didn't seem surprised to see you with the hellhound then either. How many times has he escaped? How many times has the hellhound tried to remove the darkness from them?" Parrish snapped.

"He can hypnotise Scott; I'm not taking the spell off of him," Sara said.

"He's still got use of his fingers," Marcie replied with a grin.

"I don't think I want to know the answer while there are so many witnesses around," Derek muttered.

Li snorted. "I'm pretty sure you mean alibis."

"Please stop discussing this in front of me," the Sheriff said, though he didn't look happy either.

Thinking about Stiles' nightmares, the things that Stiles and his friends had gone through to save himself, Melissa, and Chris from the Darach, to save the town time and time again, all of it with this darkness pulling them down every step of the way... It all could have been healed in less than ten minutes.

Rafe looked from his son, Stiles and Allison, to the Sheriff, and then to the Druid. "You could charge him for attempted murder, since he coerced three underage children into doing something that could have cost them their lives. From what Sara's told me, it's pure luck they survived the ordeal."

"What?!" Scott said, eyes wide as he looked between Rafe and Sara.

Sara shrugged. "It was a fifty-fifty chance of getting out of that alive. You're just lucky the Nemeton decided to test the three of you, rather than kill you. Although, with the initial charge being made by a Darach and with evil intent in mind, that probability should have been to seventy-thirty instead. You getting out alive being the thirty percent," she added.

"But... but we were saving our parents," Scott said, looking to Stiles and Allison with a frown.

"You spent sixteen hours in the bathtub, correct? You live in _Beacon Hills_ ; the forest isn't that large, especially with werewolves, a banshee, and a spark involved, and you could have found the physical location of the Nemeton in far less time than that. Even with the block around the Nemeton itself, there was no need for you to die. There are even spells to find hidden people if you have a belonging of theirs with enough sentimental value, such as a _badge_ , _bullets_ , or _watch_ ," she added, looking from Stiles to Allison and back to Scott. "The only reason to make you go through all of that was to fully charge the Nemeton," Sara said, shrugging again.

There was a long moment of silence and Scott looked as though his world had been turned upside down and shaken vigorously to boot.

"Uh, guys, this is all really interesting and all, but how long are those three going to walk around the tree stump for? They're starting to make a ditch," Li said, indicating to the three banshees who had yet to stop walking or even pay attention to the conversations around them.

When everyone looked to the Nemeton and three banshees, Lydia, Tomika, and Jade stopped walking suddenly. They turned and faced the group as one, eyes still glazed and not seeing the world around them.

" _Zbigniew Stilinski_."

...

End of the twenty-first chapter.

Author's note: Kuhle and Li's backstories

Kuhle moved from Johannesburg when he was a child with his parents. He's an avid X-Files fan and wants a Scully to his Mulder. He's pretty happy with Li as a partner since they can be Scully, Mulder, and anyone else needed :D He might have a crush on Sara.

Li has been able to change their features since they were three years old. They kept being told they looked just like their father and it made Li's mother upset, so Li just _changed_. Which also made Li's mother upset, oddly enough.  
Li spent a lot of time alone as a child because they kept changing their features outside of school and no one would recognise them. No matter what they look like, Li's mother always knows who they are :)  
When they were seven years old, Li wasn't allowed a puppy, so they became a puppy for several hours instead. After needing to clean up Li's messes for several hours, their mother _definitely_ refused to get a puppy. Their mother took Li to the dog park to play instead.  
(I could write a whole series on Li and their mother, I swear. Li's mother has been through a lot.)

Also, Stiles' name is Zbigniew, fight me.


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter Twenty Two

...

Stiles shuddered when all three banshees called for him. The fact that they used his full name in Polish wasn't as creepy as the fact that they spoke in complete unison. "I'm not the only one who thinks that was creepy, right?" he asked, looking between his father, Parrish, and the four werewolves gathered around him.

"It was creepy, honey," Tasha confirmed, shivering for a reason that had nothing to do with the cold air.

The banshees called for him again and Stiles stepped forward reluctantly, squeezing Derek's hand so he'd let him go. "Hey, here's an idea: want to tell me what's going on before I get any closer?" Stiles asked, staying at a safe distance for the moment.

"The Nemeton needs power; it's been taking power from animals in the forest, but it's not enough. The power needs to be given willingly," Yelena called.

"I vote for the Druid," Malia added.

"Still not telling me why **_I'm_** needed," Stiles pointed out.

"You have enough power," Lydia, Tomika, and Jade replied in unison.

"I still vote for the Druid," Malia called out.

Stiles ignored her and looked to the three banshees, the women finally stopped in their positions around the Nemeton. He licked his lips nervously. "Will I survive?"

"You have a better chance than the Druid," they chorused.

"Great, that's just _great_ ," Stiles groaned, rubbing his hand over his face. "What if I refuse?"

"Death."

Stiles doubted it would be his death, or even the deaths of those present, but it was far more likely to be the deaths of the townspeople within Beacon Hills, perhaps further. He wasn't sure if the Nemeton was meant to be a beacon for Beacon County as well. "Oh, _good_. No pressure then," he joked, his tone too high and his shoulders tense. He stiffened when he felt a hand on his shoulder, then relaxed and looked to his father. "Pops?"

"You don't have to do this, Stiles. It can be anyone else," the Sheriff said, sounding a little desperate. "I'll do it," he added, stepping forward.

"Oh, no, you don't! You are living until you're old and grey...er," Stiles said, a grin tugging at the side of his mouth as he pulled his father back. "You don't have any magic or a spark, so you can't anyway, Pops. I'll be fine, okay? The creepy chorus say I'll survive, and they're predictors of death, so... I'll do it."

"They said you'd have a _chance_ , not that you will," Okami said, anxiety making her eyes bleed gold.

"Stiles," Derek said, stepping forward and looking distraught. "Please..."

Stiles forced himself to smile. "I'm a spark; all I've gotta do is believe," he said with a confidence he didn't feel.

Thankfully, the human lie detectors standing around him didn't call him out. Ignoring everyone around them - family, friends, peers, acquaintances, Sean, McCall, and Deaton - Stiles tugged Derek close and kissed him firmly. They pulled away, Derek's eyes closed and his hands firm against Stiles' hips. Stiles stepped back, Derek's fingers sliding away like a whisper.

"Good luck, Stiles! You can do it, man!" Scott called out, others calling out their encouragements as well.

"Stilinski!" Jackson called, getting his attention before he could get any closer to the Nemeton. "Don't fuck it up and kill us all."

"Love you too, Jackson," Stiles called, grinning a little more genuinely now. "All right, I'm here, willing, and ready to go. What's next?" he asked, hopping up onto the Nemeton's stump, looking between the three banshees, and waiting.

Jade, Tomika, and Lydia all turned to face him, their expressions still blank and their eyes still glazed. Without any sort of warning, they all opened their mouths and _screamed_.

...

"Ethan? You howl the _second_ you need anything, understood?" Jackson's voice came from the two-way radio at Ethan's belt.

"I will," Ethan replied, wincing when he saw the pointed look Melissa was giving him. "Sorry, Mrs. McCall," he said quickly, replacing the radio and turning the volume down, but not willing to turn it off completely.

Melissa gave a slight nod, focusing on her patient once more. Ethan wondered if anyone would notice if he stole the old guy's pudding; he didn't look like he was going to eat it, after all. Just as he was reasoning to ask for forgiveness rather than permission, a loud bang came from outside of the hospital, making the old man cry out in surprise.

"It's okay, just a car backfiring," Melissa said soothingly, the lie obvious in her heartbeat but not her tone.

Both Melissa and Ethan knew the difference between a car backfiring and a gunshot, and that was definitely _not_ a car. Without waiting, Ethan ran out into the hallway and looked to the foyer. Two Calaveras were carrying a third into the foyer, the woman covered in blood and looking far too triumphant for Ethan's liking. He ran back into the room where Melissa was still trying to calm the old man down. "We've gotta go. The Calaveras injured one of their own to get in the hospital."

Melissa eased her patient back down onto his bed, then turned to face Ethan, her jaw set firmly. "I'll deal with this. Look after Mr. Lancet, and don't steal his food," she added over her shoulder.

Mr. Lancet laughed at Ethan's expression, a wet, wheezing sort of sound that reminded him far too much of Aiden dying in his arms. "She never misses a trick, that one. Now hand me my pudding, son."

Ethan passed the man his pudding numbly. He heard a commotion outside and ran to the doorway again, looking out cautiously. Melissa had sedated the injured Calavera with a needle and stunned the other two with a defibrillator, one paddle burning holes in each of their shirts. Everyone in the waiting room was staring at her in shock.

"Teddy, take care of these two; I'll look after the injured one," Melissa said. She turned and saw everyone staring. "They're just unconscious; they threatened my son," she added in explanation, carefully placing the defibrillator back in its proper place.

There were murmurs of assent from parents and staff, most people knowing Scott from his hospitalisation when he was younger or thinking they'd do the same for their own children. Others looked at the three unconscious people - who all had at least two guns visible beneath their jackets - and realised that Melissa had probably saved them a similar fate those in the hospital had faced in recent years. No one said a word.

Outside, Araya saw that her plan had failed and grit her teeth when she saw the werewolf's smug expression from further in the hospital. Turning to her second daughter, she nodded to the back of their SUV. "Bring the werewolf to me."

Her daughter smiled unpleasantly, nodded, and opened the back door to reveal a large and varied assortment of weapons, knives, flash bombs, and ammunition.

...

End of the twenty-second chapter.

Author's note: Sean and Jorge's backstories

Sean has been in the FBI for a _very_ long time. Most people don't realise that he's the same person as he moves between divisions and states, and only the Director knows for certain so he can be re-recruited and provided with a new identity when required. Different fashion styles has helped (he had an afro in the 70s; don't ask about the bell-bottom jeans).  
Sean's been training the newbies for about fifteen years so far. He swears they're getting younger each year and is looking forward to moving to a new division sooner rather than later.  
There was a period where Sean was exhausted by humanity and went deep into a forest to recover, determined to stay in his tree form for as long as possible. He was almost logged and has a scar across his stomach from the chainsaw. He sometimes has nightmares that other Dryads have been killed this way and one day he'll be the only one left.

Jorge's mother died in childbirth, and his father was an extremely religious person. He tried to drown Jorge when he was a baby after he found him trying to eat a cat. Jorge's _abuela_ came home early and stopped him, then left with Jorge. She taught him how to control the things that were happening to him, despite not really understanding it herself.  
Jorge's not a vampire, but has enough vampire-like tendencies with fangs and blood that it's the closest explanation he can find. Jorge can walk around in the daytime and if anyone gets between him and his garlic chilli fries then he will _end_ them, but eating a raw steak every month keeps him energised and his senses sharper than normal humans. He tells himself every day that he isn't a monster.


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter Twenty Three

...

Everyone flinched, covering their ears as the banshees screamed. Stiles was knocked flat back onto the Nemeton's stump, his ears ringing and his head spinning. He stared up at the dark night sky, the stars swimming in his vision, unaware of anything else happening around him.

The Nemeton started to grow around Stiles' body, hundreds of green shoots springing out from the stump, curling up and over and around Stiles until no one could see him. The shoots continued until Stiles could no longer see the stars above, the world around him going dark. A wind picked up, pushing everyone away from both the Nemeton and the banshees. They only stopped screaming once Stiles was completely encased in the Nemeton, all three women falling to the ground as they came back to themselves, their power no longer controlling their actions.

" _Fuck_ ," Tomika groaned, standing slowly and looking around. "Where are we?"

"What is that?" Jade asked, looking at the green _writhing_ thing on top of the Nemeton.

Lydia stood up, careful and cautious, and stepped towards the covered tree stump. "Stiles."

No one had a chance to ask questions because a bullet whistled through the air, embedding in Scott's right shoulder. He roared in pain, eyes glowing red, and turned in the direction the bullet had come from.

Gerard stepped out from the tree line, smiling broadly. There was movement beside him and Kate revealed herself, smirking with a flash of werejaguar eyes.

Teresa, Malia and Mohammed snarled at her presence. Sara was trying to get the bullet out of Scott's shoulder, but it was wolfsbane and was already working through his system, his veins turning purple. Sara switched her magic to the wolfsbane instead, drawing small amounts out of the wound as carefully and quickly as she possibly could. It wouldn't get all of it, but it would give them more time to get a bullet and the antidote.

"Which strain is it?" Chris asked, not taking his eyes off his sister or father, his gun pointed at them without a single tremble in his hand.

"Going to rescue the little 'wolf, are you?" Kate sneered.

"Give me the bullet, Dad!"

Gerard scoffed. "You've gone soft, Chris. You should have died long ago, but you were always stubborn."

"It runs in the family," Chris snapped.

Scott groaned, reaching up to try to dig the bullet out himself. Sara stopped him quickly. "You'll make it worse," she said, drawing out another line of ash from his blood.

The Sheriff turned his attention away from his son - stuck _in_ the Nemeton, as far as he could tell - and drew his gun. Beside him, Rafe already had his finger on his trigger.  
"Give us the bullet, Argent. Now!" Rafe demanded.

Gerard looked to Rafe, glanced him up and down, then smirked. "You're far from your neck of the woods, Agent McCall. Don't look so surprised; the Calaveras aren't the only ones who have their own people within the FBI. You're nothing special, especially out here in the real world," he spat.

Chris was surprised at his father's admission of having people in the FBI; he'd spent the last two years methodically removing everyone with ties to his family, and he _thought_ he'd found them all.

Gerard held up a notebook. "Despite your affinity to kill the _bad guys_ , you're not that great at cleaning up after them. Dear little Meredith wrote down every thought in her head, and by proxy, every thought in _Peter's_ head too. The entire deadpool, written out as plain as day, no password required.

"What, you didn't think the Argent family would receive a tape? Peter's obviously shown that he's willing to work with _one_ of us in the past," he sneered, looking over at Kate, who smirked in return. "Finding relatives of the people in Beacon Hills was easy enough, sending invitations with the FBI's official letter-head and application forms was even easier. But you know what was the _real_ icing on the cake?" he asked, grinning at his rapt audience. "Framing that piece of scum werewolf for murders he didn't commit. All it took was one phone call and he's been on the FBI's wanted list for months!"

"That was you?" Tomika asked, her jaw dropping.

Gerard didn't even glance at her. "The people I have within the FBI have been keeping a very close eye on all of you. I cannot tell you how _disappointing_ it is to know so many of you are nothing but _human_ ," he said, as though the word itself was a slur.

"Enough talking," Kate snarled, shifting as she darted forward, her claws elongating and her skin turning blue.

Jackson was the first to rush out towards her, pushing Isaac away and safe behind him. They met with a clash of claws, snarling and eyes flashing. Kate smirked at Jackson, curling her fingers over so her claws caught on his hands, Jackson hissing in pain.

"You really think you're strong enough to handle me?" she sneered.

"You're seriously outnumbered," Jackson pointed out.

"You think we're that stupid, sweetheart?"

An arrow whistled through the air, hitting Liam with a dull thunk. He roared in pain, his eyes flashing gold. In the trees around them, hunters revealed themselves, each and every one armed to the teeth. High-pitched noises started sounding, the were-creatures in the clearing covering their ears in pain.

Scott recognised the high-pitched sound from the rods he'd seen the Argents using in the forest years ago. The knowledge didn't help the fact that he wanted to tear his ears off, the sound reverberating inside of his skull and making his vision double. Sara was still working on drawing out lines of ash from his blood, but he could feel it rushing through his body, his heart pounding faster in response to the loud noise and vibrations in the air, in his skull. Scott groaned in pain, almost doubling over, and Sara tried to keep him still as she continued to draw out more ash carefully.

The high-pitched noises only affected the creatures with heightened senses, and Rafe wasn't about to let his son die in front of him. He shot Gerard in the shoulder, hoping to make him drop his weapon at the very least. Gerard jolted back, but didn't let go of the gun. In fact, apart from the force of the bullet, he hardly seemed to notice being shot at all.

Rafe stared as Gerard's body shifted. It was completely different to Hale's transformation, which was smooth and almost elegant. Gerard's body, on the other hand, shifted as though his body was fighting him every step of the way, his body bulging in places. Rafe could swear that the noise of Gerard's bones crunching could be heard over the noise of gunfire and bullets and screaming around him. Eventually, Gerard had transformed, and the bullet pushed itself out of his shoulder harmlessly.

Gerard smiled at Rafe's shocked expression, his teeth sharp and eyes blue. "Blood transfusions replaced the mountain ash that your son _infected_ me with," he spat, looking as though he wanted to shoot Scott all over again. "Luckily, the bite he _generously_ provided - by _betraying_ his Alpha, I might add - took hold."

Rafe mentally added that revelation to the list of questions he wanted to ask Scott later. For now, he needed to get that gun from Argent so he'd actually have the chance to ask Scott. Beside him, the Sheriff changed bullets to wolfsbane ones and shot at Gerard in the next instant. Gerard dodged the bullets and charged at them.

Isaac tensed his body, running forward and ducking down low to grab onto Kate's legs, lifting her and tearing her away from Jackson. They both fell to the ground with a thud, Kate hissing in pain when Isaac landed on top of her. Jackson was on her in a second, his hand around her throat and his eyes blue. Isaac had her legs and Jackson had her throat, but they'd left her arms free, and she gouged five lines into both of them with her claws, blood splattering as they both pulled away with pained roars.

Kate was up and away from them in a second, turning when she heard a footfall behind her. Coming face to face with herself made Kate stop short. She frowned, confused long enough to be caught by Other Kate's claws. She growled in pain, slashing out to get Other Kate back.

Li grinned and stepped into Kate's oncoming claws, changing their body at the last instant to become stronger and stiffer than mere flesh and blood. Kate roared in pain as her claws met with Li's new reinforced torso, and Li was pretty sure she'd lost at least one claw as a result. Now _this_ was more like what Li had imagined for their first FBI job. Okay, maybe there were a few more monsters and more risk of, y'know, _dying_ , but it was better than dealing with chickens.

Derek saw Gerard charging for Rafe and the Sheriff and ran to intercept the older Argent, slamming into him and knocking him away from the two humans. Gerard snarled, glaring at Derek and raising his gun to shoot him. Derek heard the gun go off but there was no impact. Rafe had run and jumped in front of Derek, the bullet slamming into his Kevlar vest. Derek was surprised the FBI agent had saved him, and frowned slightly when he saw Rafe take the vest off, pulling at the hole to retrieve the bullet. It was still intact, and Derek realised that he'd not only saved Derek, but his son as well.

"Go, give it to Sara. Scott knows what to do," Derek said, pulling a lighter out of his pocket and pressing it into Rafe's hand.

"Stiles will kill me if you're harmed, Hale. Try to stay alive for both our sakes, all right?" Rafe said over his shoulder, heading to where Scott and Sara were.

Kuhle and one of Gerard's hunters were fighting, both armed with daggers, a mere metre away from them and Rafe had to dodge the blades to get to his son.

"Hale said you know what to do with these?" Rafe asked Scott, holding the bullet and lighter out to him.

Scott nodded, looking far too weak for Rafe's liking, and took the bullet and lighter from him. Sara pulled one more line of ash from his arm, the purple-black lines still creeping closer towards Scott's heart. Tearing open the bullet with his teeth, Scott poured the ash onto his palm, lit it on fire and slammed his hand over his bullet wound. He roared in pain and Rafe watched as the lines retracted slowly, the infected mountain ash pouring out of Scott's wound with a black sludge-like substance.

There was a flash of light to his side, distracting him for a moment, and Rafe saw that Sara had stopped a dagger with a ball of magic hovering in front of her. Kuhle grabbed the dagger and blocked the hunter, pushing them back and away from Sara, Scott, and Rafe.

By the time Rafe turned around to his son, Scott was completely healed and looking like he hadn't even been shot in the first place. "You're okay?" Rafe asked, still concerned.

Scott nodded and smiled. "I'll be fine now. Thanks, Dad. Thank you too, Sara."

There was a scream of pain, louder than anything else in the clearing, and they turned to where Ari was fighting against a hunter. The hunter had hit her shoulder with the bullet wound and she was kneeling on the ground, gasping in pain. Before anyone could react, Ari started to sing. It was a wordless song, a melody that wrapped around each individual and reminded them of their dearest and most beloved things, drawing them towards Ari without any hint of fight or resistance. She continued to sing, waiting until the hunter was close enough so she could grab the gun. Ari turned it in an instant and shot the hunter, her song stopping as the hunter hit the ground.

Several people shook their heads, confused as to why they'd stopped fighting for that brief moment. Malia snarled and ran at a hunter, barrelling into them and knocking them down, the hunter kicking out at her. Beside her, Mohammed was fighting a hunter as well. Yelena had run out of bullets and was trying to best a hunter at hand-to-hand combat and distract them from the fact that _they_ still had a gun with bullets.

Isaac felt waves of nausea rising in his throat, but he continued forward. The ringing noise was getting worse with every step he took, but he had to stop those damn rods so the others would have a better chance at fighting. Forcing himself the last few steps, Isaac grabbed the rod, snarling as he snapped it in half. He heard another snap and looked over to where the next rod was placed. Erica was holding the pieces in her hands, and she smiled at him, a little hesitantly after everything.

"Good to see you again, Catwoman," he called out, grinning back broadly and giving a wave.

Her smile became more genuine. "You too, Robin." Erica's eyes widened. "Look out, behind you!"

Isaac spun around, arms raised, just as a hunter swung their baton, the weapon landing on his forearm instead of his head. Isaac cried out in pain, his arm shattering, and he stumbled back, cradling his arm against his chest. He could feel the bone repairing and healing, but it wouldn't do it in time to deflect the hunter for a second time. There was a roar from the clearing, one he knew well, and Jackson tackled the hunter, smashing their head against a tree trunk.

Leaving the hunter crumpled on the ground, Jackson turned to check on Isaac. "Are you healing?" he asked, gentle with Isaac as he lifted his arm to inspect it himself.

"I'll be all right," Isaac said. "Erica saved me. He would've smashed my head in if she hadn't seen him."

Jackson looked from Isaac's arm to his face, and then over his shoulder to where Erica was standing, still holding two pieces of the rod in her hand. "Thank you."

She smiled and nodded. "Want to help me finish off these fucking things?" Erica asked, holding up the broken rod.

"I'll help," Boyd said.

"You're supposed to be looking after Allison," Erica said, then looked over to where Allison was fighting with two hunters, armed with a crossbow and daggers. "Oh. Never mind."

Boyd grinned. "Four more left," he said, nodding to the other rods around the clearing.

"One each?" Jackson asked.

"Aw, you've learnt to count while we've been away," Erica teased.

Jackson scowled. Isaac rolled his eyes and led Jackson around the clearing towards the other two rods. Boyd and Erica headed for the other two.

The high-pitched noises from around the clearing finally stopped and the were-creatures snarled at the hunters. Malia grinned wildly when she realised she didn't have to try to concentrate _around_ the noise anymore and flicked out her claws, her eyes burning blue.

Despite the barrage of bullets and fighting happening around the clearing, nothing came close to the Nemeton. It was as though there was a barrier around the stump, protecting it from everything that happened.

Deaton watched the fight, curious to see what would happen and who would win. The Sheriff and Chris were fighting Gerard now; Allison was helping Li with Kate. Hunters were fighting either one-on-one or in pairs against the rest of the pack and FBI recruits: Sean was sheltering an unconscious Grant as Marcie ran around two hunters to distract them; Sara stopped Kuhle from being stabbed; Jade had only stopped screaming at hunters when she realised that they'd started to wear ear plugs, and was now shooting to maim; Tomika and Lydia were working together, Parrish somewhere between the two banshees and the hellhound; Derek fought off another hunter and moved across the clearing to help Allison and Li with Kate. Boyd and Erica reached Allison before him, so Derek continued on to help the Sheriff and Chris instead.

A gunshot and a howl of pain rang out as one of the hunters shot Caleb with wolfsbane bullets three times, Okami and Tasha bringing the hunter down a moment later. Malia and Yelena seemed to be playing tag with their hunters; Mohammed and Yukimi were working together with claws and electricity respectively, the hunters wounded or knocked unconscious neatly; Ari was given a wide berth and she was helping Mia and Teresa with Liam and Mason, who had both been wounded. Rafe and Scott were side by side, fighting together, and Deaton wanted to scoff at Scott's sudden and _easy_ acceptance of Rafe in his life once more.

Deaton inhaled sharply when one of the hunter's arrows embedded into his shoulder, already knowing that there was no use in crying out loud. He looked at the arrow the best he could, seeing the blood starting to congeal around the wound. Sara's magic was strong, but blood magic was stronger. If anyone had been paying attention to him, they might have been concerned to see the usually-impassive Druid _smiling_.

In a matter of minutes, Sara's spell was broken and no one had noticed. Taking a moment to breathe, to make a sound and be heard again, Deaton watched the demise of three more hunters before he called out to Scott, his voice weaving around the werewolf until it was the only thing Scott could hear, the noise of the fighting dull in his mind. "Scott. Destroy the Nemeton. Destroy _anyone_ who gets in your way."

Scott knocked out the hunter he'd been fighting and then turned to look at the Nemeton. The green shoots were still covering Stiles, but that didn't matter to Scott anymore. He snarled and ran across the clearing towards the Nemeton, his eyes red and his claws out. Before he could reach his target, Derek was in front of Scott. He snarled at the other werewolf, swiping at him with his claws. Derek blocked him and pushed him back with a flat palm, Scott moving back a few steps.

"Come on, Scott, you've got to fight this. You don't want to hurt Stiles," Derek said, almost pleading with him.

Scott didn't hear him over Deaton's voice in his head, telling him how disappointed he was in him, how he could be proud of Scott if he did this, how he just needed to do this one small thing for him. Even with Rafe beside him and Scott's acceptance of his father, there was still a niggling concern that he would leave, that he was disappointed in him, that Scott would take second-place to his job or anything else that mattered more to Rafe at that moment. It was far too easy for Deaton to manipulate and use him, especially as Scott was vulnerable and far too trusting.

"Scott!"

Scott's eyes filtered to brown at his father's voice, but Deaton's voice was stronger, more familiar, and one that he had trusted longer than his Rafe's voice, so his eyes flicked back to red almost immediately. Rafe was beside Derek in a moment, shirt torn and bloody, and he could see Scott assessing the damage that had already been done, where to hurt to cause the most injury to - as Deaton had said - destroy him.

"Scott, stop this, please. Don't listen to him," Rafe said, encouraged when he saw Scott's eyes flickering between brown and red.

"Your father's going to do what he always does, Scott: break his promises and leave you behind."

There was a shriek of pain and a blood-filled gurgle that had most people looking to the source. Derek was surprised to see Allison standing over her aunt, Kate dying on the ground and bleeding out. No one had a chance to react before Allison shot Kate in the head twice, her eyes bursting in bloody geysers. The three banshees stopped screaming her name and the fighting resumed.

"Were the eyes really necessary, Allison?" Lydia asked, frowning.

"The forehead is one of the thicker parts of a person's skull, so a bullet doesn't always go through the forehead, whereas the eye goes directly to the brain. I'm not risking her coming back to life again," Allison added. "Erica, Boyd, would you mind decapitating her?"

The two werewolves smirked and flicked out their claws.

There was a loud roar of pain from Gerard as he heard his granddaughter's words and realised that his daughter was truly dead. Chris knew how his father's mind worked far too well, and he knew that Allison would now be considered as a monster that needed to be killed, despite the fact that Gerard himself was more of a monster than most people in that clearing. Gerard was faster and stronger, and Chris knew that he couldn't stop him, but he refused to let Allison be killed _again_.

Chris ran across the clearing as fast as he could, ploughing straight into Allison, shoving her out of the way of Gerard's claws only to have them embed in his own stomach instead. Chris stared at his father, blood gurgling up his throat and between his lips, and Gerard sneered as he twisted his hand and dug his claws in deeper. Chris heard Allison screaming out for him, the sound dull and distant. He tried to look to his daughter, to see her face one last time, but he couldn't.

Gerard clutched his face, his claws pricking at his cheek to hold him still, his blue eyes burning with hatred. "You are truly your mother's son: just as weak and pathetic as she was. Once you're dead, I'm killing _everyone_ in this clearing - starting with your daughter - and there's nothing you can do to stop me!"

There was another scream from Lydia, but this time it wasn't a name. Chris didn't even have time to feel relief before two more screams joined in - Tomika and Jade - at different frequencies. The scream built up around them, the sound intense and drilling straight into his brain. It built up, pounding and thrumming against his skull, until it was broken by a wet gasp. Chris opened his eyes in confusion and saw Gerard's pale face.

Gerard's hand had fallen away from his face so Chris was able to look down between them. The gaping wound that was on his stomach was mirrored in Gerard's body, blood pouring out without a hand to stop it. Gerard wrenched his hand out of and away from Chris' body and tried to hold his own body together instead. Chris moved back and almost immediately, his ears stopped ringing as the sound lessened.

However, for Gerard, the screaming noise from the banshees increased. His eardrums ruptured, blood leaking from his ears. His body tried to heal, but the noise caused too much vibration within his body, and Gerard couldn't block his ears and his stomach at the same time. As the sound increased his internal organs began to vibrate and rupture as well. He collapsed to the ground before long, dead and no longer recognisable as a human being, let alone the once-feared Gerard Argent.

"Ally, I love you, but I'm _not_ decapitating that."

Allison snorted and pressed a kiss to Erica's cheek. "Don't worry, you won't need to. I don't think there's a way to come back from melted brain."

Boyd didn't look convinced and stepped forward to decapitate Gerard anyway. Chris stopped him with an arm across the chest. Boyd's jaw clenched and Chris figured the only reason he was still standing was because Allison was his daughter.

"I've got a wolfsbane-coated axe in my bag," Chris explained.

Boyd nodded and went to where Chris' supplies were sitting on the edge of the clearing. He handled the axe carefully, but his face shone with grim determination as he decapitated Gerard.

Chris' stomach was still bleeding, but the damage didn't seem as bad now that Gerard was dead. He looked to Lydia, intent on asking her just _what the hell_ had happened, but her attention was focused on the Nemeton.

Their small group turned to look at the Nemeton as well, Allison following her father's confused gaze, and Erica and Boyd looking to see why she had gasped in surprise. While they had been busy fighting, the Nemeton had started to move. No, it wasn't just moving, it was _growing_.

"Scott, now!" Deaton yelled, no longer trying to mask his voice from the others in the clearing.

Scott's eyes burned red as he tackled his father and Derek, knocking them both to the ground. He ran forward over them, roaring loudly as he tried to slice at the green shoots that were writhing and growing upwards from the Nemeton's stump.

On realising that her spell had worn off, Sara didn't bother trying to redo it when she saw the blood running down the Druid's arm. Instead, she grabbed one of the hunter's batons and smacked Deaton out with it, the Druid's head falling to rest on his chest, his body going limp.

Scott's eyes filtered back to brown immediately and he looked at the Nemeton in front of him to the clearing behind him, both Rafe and Derek groaning and getting up. Scott's heart beat a frantic rhythm as he realised that his hands were wet and sticky. Standing and taking a proper look at his hands, Scott blanched when he saw that they were covered in blood.

Green shoots writhed and everyone stared as rivulets of blood oozed out from between the gaps. The Nemeton continued to grow, blood and green shoots combining as the tree grew taller and wider, until the tree was covered in dark layers of bark and wood instead.

There was a long moment of silence that was only broken when Derek howled, realising that he could no longer hear Stiles' heartbeat.

...

End of the twenty-third chapter.

Author's note: Jade and Sara's backstories

Jade found out she was a banshee when she screamed her grandfather's name as a baby. Of course, as she was a baby, she had no idea what a banshee was or what it meant. For several years, her parents were worried that any name she spoke would result in that person's death, though they eventually discovered they were wrong. Jade has a big family (three brothers and two sisters) and because her parents were a little terrified of what they thought she could do, most of the love and attention went to her brothers and sisters. She didn't mind too much, preferring to be by herself anyway. At school, Jade was labelled a freak for no reason other than she was quiet; it was around this time that her parents realised they were wrong (Jade came home talking about her teachers and classmates, and no one died) and tried to make up for their earlier neglect by paying more attention to her. Jade was confused by this and spent more time outside, wanting her peace and quiet back again. She screamed five people's names in the following year, the build-up too much for her to control, and others realised that she predicted their deaths. Rumours started circulating about Jade predicting death, and while some people sought her out to predict _their_ deaths, most either avoided her completely or took offence and decided to hurt her for something beyond her control. Jade was eventually sent to live with an Aunt on the other side of the country who was the "odd one" on her father's side of the family. Her Aunt took her to every spiritual leader she could find and eventually it was discovered that she was a banshee. As soon as Jade heard the word, she knew that's what she was, and felt as though she finally belonged somewhere. She joined the FBI mostly out of a curiosity to see if she could even get in in the first place; Jade stayed there because she enjoyed the job and helping people like her Aunt helped her.

Sara comes from a long line of witches. Her great-great-grandmother escaped Salem but lost her best friend in the process and because of this she became bitter towards nearly everyone. The only time she was happy was when she found out her daughter and grand-daughter had both acquired her spark of magic. Her lessons were harsh and strict, with no room for error. As this was the only way they had learnt, Sara was taught by her grandmother and mother in the same way and as a result, she _hated_ being a witch for several years. She learnt the hard way (even harder than her original lessons) just what happens to a witch who doesn't use their powers. Sara moved out of home and found a coven in NYC. The witches in the coven taught her the beauty of being a witch and she learned to love what she was again. Her best friend was killed, the police put it down to a Satanic cult, but Sara knew that her friend had been discovered as a witch. Two other witches in the coven were killed before anyone believed her theory, and the coven disbanded as they fled. Sara joined the FBI and specialised in cult killings; she still hasn't found the killer of her best friend, and she still hasn't decided what to do when she does.


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter Twenty Four

...

Stiles watched as the world around him went dark, the Nemeton's shoots closing around him and obscuring the stars overhead. He blinked and in the next moment when he opened his eyes, the darkness was replaced with pure white.

"Oh, fuck. _Shit_ ," he cursed, blinking rapidly at the sudden change, his eyes stinging.

Sitting up on the Nemeton's stump, Stiles rubbed his eyes once more before looking around the room. It looked exactly like the room he'd seen on getting out of the ice tub, pure white and not much else. Sliding off the stump - _was it his imagination or was the stump taller than it had been a second ago?_ \- Stiles stood on the floor and wriggled his bare toes, looking at the white shirt and pants he was wearing.

"I'm pretty sure I'll be in trouble if I lose my Kevlar vest. I get it back after this, right?" he called to the room, not really expecting an answer.

"If you survive, sure thing."

Stiles spun on his heel, eyes wide, and came face to face with himself. "What the fuck? We stopped the Nogitsune. What, or who, the actual fuck are you?!"

Other Stiles snorted. "Calm down; it's just easier to talk to you when I have a larynx, and your face is one of the nicer ones available. Would you prefer a different one?" Other Stiles asked, his face flicking between several faces: Paige, the Dread Doctors, the Ghost Riders, the Nogitsune, the Oni...

"Stop! Just stick with my face," Stiles muttered, shuddering at the thought of talking with the Nogitsune again. "You're the Nemeton, aren't you?"

Other Stiles smirked. "Give him a prize, Johnny!"

"Asshole."

"So're you."

Stiles couldn't really argue with that. "So... What now?"

Other Stiles shrugged. "You heal me."

"Uh huh. And how do I do that?" Stiles asked, looking from Other Stiles to the tree stump - again, it looked taller than it had been only a few moments ago - and then down to his own hands, completely empty of anything that might actually help heal the Nemeton.

"Believe."

Stiles looked up sharply, frowning at his other self. "That's it?"

"A bit of blood wouldn't hurt. Well, it wouldn't hurt _me_ , at least," Other Stiles amended with a smile that was a little too sharp.

"I don't have anything to - " Stiles cut off abruptly when the Nemeton stump behind Other Stiles grew several large spikes of wood. "Never mind."

Other Stiles smirked and gave a flourishing wave. "Go right ahead. The sooner we finish here, the sooner you can save your pack. Too bad I don't have your boyfriend's face."

Stiles was about ninety percent certain that the Nemeton was flirting with him. It wasn't a pleasant thought to dwell on - especially considering the Nogitsune was probably in there somewhere - and he headed to the stump without answering.

The spikes looked far too similar to needles for Stiles' liking and he hesitated, looking back over to Other Stiles. "Why does it have to be blood? Why can't I... I don't know, just _spit_ and believe?"

Other Stiles rolled his eyes. "Because blood is more potent than saliva, and your life force is considered blood, not _spit_. There's also the fact that blood brought me back the first time around, and therefore, blood is needed to fix the total fuckery that's become of me since then... I thought you were meant to be the smart one?"

"I am, which is why I'm questioning the need for my blood _before_ I give it to a goddamn tree."

Other Stiles just smirked and shrugged. Before he could say anything, the room around them started to tear apart, like claws were digging into the fabric of reality itself. Stiles saw that Other Stiles was pale and the sharp spikes on the Nemeton's stump had shrunk.

"We're being attacked. Hurry," Other Stiles urged him.

Stiles nodded, took a deep breath, and scratched the back of his arm on the spikes, blood forming and dripping down onto the Nemeton's stump.

As suddenly as the world had started to shred, it stopped. Other Stiles breathed a sigh of relief and Stiles couldn't help but echo the sigh with one of his own.

"Believe, Stiles. Believe I'll be healed, believe I'll grow again. Believe with every part of yourself," Other Stiles said, voice wavering as his form started to shimmer and disappear.

Stiles inhaled again and closed his eyes. He believed the Nemeton to be as tall and proud as it should have been for years now; believed that all of the prisoners were housed and unable to escape, no matter what; believed the branches and leaves stretching up to the sky; believed that _nothing_ would be able to tear it down again. Stiles didn't want anyone in Beacon Hills to go through this shit ever again.

He had one more thing to add to all of this - coming close to praying like he hadn't done since he was six and his mother was dying - and Stiles believed with every part of his being that this last thing would work.

...

Stiles opened his eyes, hearing a howl echoing below him. Frowning and blinking, Stiles realised that he was on one of the Nemeton's branches, and the sky seemed much closer than it had been when he closed his eyes. Sitting up carefully, Stiles realised that he was _very high_ off the ground. He could see over the tops of the trees around him, the Nemeton towering over the rest of the forest. Stiles gulped - he'd done this, he'd believed that he could do this, and he had. He inhaled shakily, then forced himself to redirect his attention away from the forest and looked at his arm; it was scratched, but he was no longer bleeding. It was a better outcome than he'd expected, really.

Scooting forward on the branch, Stiles clung to the Nemeton's trunk, his heart pounding a million beats per second. He tried to count and breathe, to gather enough courage to _look down_. With the wind whipping at him and his eyes squeezed shut tight, Stiles didn't think he could do that just yet.

"Anyone down there?" Stiles called out.

It was obvious that there were people down there - he could still hear the fighting, after all - but Stiles had no idea who was winning. Licking his lips nervously, Stiles opened his eyes and slowly looked down. A thick branch was beneath him, easy to reach if he decided to move some time this year, and it was effectively blocking both him and the others from each other's view.

While Stiles' tree-climbing skills were pretty good, it was the whole _getting down from the tree_ that was usually the problem, as evidenced by him almost falling out of the tree in front of the McCall's home over five years ago.

 _Typical_ , Stiles thought to himself, _he could get himself_ ** _into_** _these situations easily enough, but getting_ ** _out_** _of them was another matter all together._

There was another howl from the fight below; it was loud and pained and Stiles recognised who it belonged to instantly: **_Derek_**.

His hands and legs trembling, Stiles forced himself to move. There was no way in Hell he was going to sit around on a branch while Derek was getting hurt. The branches were evenly spaced, enough so that Stiles was able to climb down easily enough and he was at the bottom branches in a matter of minutes. Crouching low, Stiles looked at the fight going on down below to determine what was going on and who was winning.

Stiles noticed that both Gerard and Kate weren't in the clearing, and from what he could see, Derek had turned into an actual wolf and seemed determined to fight every hunter that remained in the clearing.

 _What the fuck had happened?_

...

Allison cried out when she saw her father collapse to his knees, blood loss finally overcoming him. She was by him in an instant, keeping pressure on the wound, blood seeping out and staining her hands. She could feel her eyes prick with tears, a lump forming in her throat. "No, no. I just got back, you can't... Not now, please."

Chris breathed, a wet sound through the blood, and smiled up at her.

"Uh, Mr. Argent, sir? I can help."

Allison looked up at Scott and saw that his eyes were bright red, and she looked down to her father quickly, wondering if he'd do what her mother hadn't been able to do.

"I'm... I'm not calling you Alpha," Chris said between clenched teeth, but nodded.

Scott nodded, dropped to his knees, and bit Chris Argent.

Malia was one of the few who seemed happy with Derek's ongoing fight, calling out both encouragement and abuse every so often. "Come on, you idiot! You've left yourself wide open!"

"Malia, if you're going to yell at someone, at least make it constructive."

Malia spun around at the sound of Peter's voice, her eyes wide. Beside her, Yelena tensed and looked ready to shoot him.

"You're late," Malia snapped, glaring at Peter.

"I think I arrived right on time, actually. You weren't hurt?" Peter asked, looking over her and sniffing to determine her injuries for himself.

"Nothing that won't heal," Malia replied with a dismissive shrug.

Beside her, Yelena snorted and rolled her eyes. "You weren't saying that when those noise rods were going off."

Peter looked from Malia to Yelena, then to the fight behind them. "The hunters belong to the Argents, so where are the Argents? It's unlike them to leave people standing."

"The tree ate them," Malia said, grinning broadly.

There was a scream and gurgle behind them, Malia turning to see the hunter collapse to the ground, his throat torn out. She huffed, annoyed that she'd missed the action, and glared over her shoulder at Peter for distracting her. He held his hands up in a gesture of peace and smiled.

"Uh, hello? Anyone want to help me down from here?"

"Stiles?" the Sheriff asked, sitting up immediately, only to be held back down by Liam and Mason.

"We'll get him, sir," Mason promised.

"Jump, I'll catch you," Liam called.

"Oh, hell no, you puppy. What happened to my dad?" Stiles called down, clinging to his branch that felt far too high off the ground for his liking.

"Shot in the leg. He'll be fine," Mason added.

"Are you sure?"

"It's just a graze; I'm fine," the Sheriff replied.

There was a groaning sound from Derek, who had shifted back at the sound of Stiles' voice, and he stood up gingerly, ignoring everyone except Stiles. He was at the base of the Nemeton in a heartbeat, looking up into the branches to see Stiles sitting there, holding the Nemeton's trunk.

"You're okay," Derek breathed, feeling the tension leave his body.

"You're naked."

"Damn straight he is."

"Li, don't make me hurt you."

They snorted. "You've got to get down from the tree first, Stilinski."

"Jump, I'll catch you," Derek said.

There was a moment of silence before Stiles tentatively agreed. Liam threw up his hands, muttering under his breath.

A roar came from across the clearing and they both looked over to see Chris arching up off the ground, his eyes turning gold and fangs forming. In the sky above them, the moon was full and shone brightly.

"Dad?" Allison asked hesitantly, reaching out for him.

Chris' eyes lost their gold brilliance almost immediately, and he looked from his daughter to the healing wound on his stomach. His claws retracted as he held Allison's hand tightly, then turned to face Scott. "Thank you for saving my life."

Scott smiled brightly. "No problem."

"I'm still not calling you Alpha," Chris muttered as he stood up slowly, still not willing to let go of Allison's hand.

There was a soft cough from beside them, and Peter looked at them with red eyes, a smirk playing on his face as he gave Chris a very obvious once-over. "Allow me to be of assistance."

Stiles snickered at the surprise on Chris' face, then looked down again. "Uh, just... one question before I get down: what happened to Argent Crazy #1 and Argent Crazy #2?"

"The Nemeton took them," Mohammed called.

"Oh, good, it worked. They won't be getting out of there _ever_. Sorry, not sorry, Chris."

Chris just shrugged, not exactly regretting the loss of his family members after they'd tried to kill him.

"Ready, Der?" Stiles asked, his anxiety skyrocketing.

"Ready," Derek promised.

Stiles threw himself from the tree branch, his eyes shut tight, and let out a grunt of pain as he was caught in Derek's arms, bridal style.

"You're okay, Stiles. I've got you," Derek said, pressing a quick kiss to his temple.

"Never doubted it for a second," Stiles replied, reluctant to get to his feet and leave Derek's embrace. "Hey, I got my vest back, nice." He dropped down beside his father to see that he was all right for himself.

The Sheriff batted away his hands and pulled him in for a hug instead. "I'm fine, son. It's just a graze. Melissa will tell you the same thing," he added. Glancing from Stiles up to Derek, the Sheriff turned his attention to Liam and Mason. "Would you find something for Derek to wear, please?"

Both boys nodded firmly and left as fast as possible.

"Sorry, Sheriff."

"Unfortunately, nudity isn't the worst thing I've seen on a full moon," the Sheriff muttered. "Parrish, you all right?" he called out, realising he hadn't seen his Deputy in a while and couldn't see him with the others around him.

"Fine, Sheriff. Just making sure our friend can go back to Eichen without any troubles now," Parrish said, nodding to the statuesque hellhound at the edge of the clearing.

Certain that his father was all right, Stiles stood up and looked out across the clearing. "Anyone hurt or injured? If we can figure out who needs to go to the hospital, then we can determine who can stay behind to help clean this up."

"Does therapy count?" Lydia asked in a mutter, Tomika laughing beside her.

"I'm a little beaten up; I wouldn't say no to some bandages," Jade called out.

The banshees' screaming Gerard to death had occurred in the middle of Jade fighting with a hunter, who hadn't held back on seeing that his opponent was preoccupied. Saying she needed bandages was an understatement, considering the amount of bruises and blood that covered her arms and legs.

"I've got a few bullets that need to be dug out," Teresa said, her vest and upper arms riddled with holes. Her werecougar shift was enough to stop from bleeding out, but the bullets were still in her body and she wasn't strong enough to heal the wounds on her own. Teresa was just grateful that wolfsbane didn't affect her as it did the werewolves.

"I'll probably need stitches," Parrish said, looking to the claw marks and knife wounds that littered his body.

"Uh, I think I have a concussion," Grant added, wincing in pain.

Marcie appeared next to him, muttering as she shone a torch in his eyes. "That's what you get for fainting at the smallest thing."

"He turned into an actual goddamn wolf, Marcie!"

A few people snickered, but the noise was cut off by another voice.

"Uh, guys? A little help would be appreciated. Y'know, if you're still alive," Ethan's voice came from the radios.

Jackson and Isaac were gone before anyone could say or do anything.

"We'll be right there, Ethan. Isaac and Jackson will probably beat us," Stiles added into the radio. "Guess we're all heading to the hospital, after all."

"What about Dr. Deaton?" Scott asked. "He's helped a lot of people and... he's a good person, really. There must be some sort of explanation for... all of this," he said, wincing when he saw the cuts and bruises, the blood and scratches, the people unconscious or dead, and the Nemeton scratched by his own claws.

"I'll stay here and see if I can work something to make sure he won't be able to hypnotise you again," Sara said. "Whether he's arrested for _all of this_ is up to Agent McCall and the Sheriff."

"I will stay with you," Kuhle offered immediately, ignoring Li when they snorted and rolled their eyes at him.

"Good, you can help me clean this area up," Sean said, raising an eyebrow at Kuhle when his expression fell.

"Yes, sir."

Stiles grinned. "Anyone else want to stay behind?"

"Shut up and hurry up," Malia snapped, running out of the clearing and towards the hospital.

"I don't know that my shoes can take any more of this unnecessary walking. Please tell me you know where the closest car is?" Lydia asked Tomika.

She grinned and nodded. "This way," Tomika said, then held her hand out.

Lydia looked between Tomika's offered hand and her grin, then smiled and accepted her hand, walking out of the clearing with Tomika by her side.

"You remember where the hospital is?" Stiles asked Erica, Boyd and Allison.

Erica raised an eyebrow at him. " _Really,_ Batman?"

"Uh, okay, stupid question. You want to ride with us?" he clarified.

"Do you still have the Jeep?" Boyd asked.

"Yes, he does!" Marcie called.

"Good; I'll drive," Boyd said, holding his hand out for the keys.

"Peter has offered to take me to the hospital and take Chris with us to help work on his control. Or flirt with him, I still haven't decided," the Sheriff said; across the clearing, Chris blushed and Peter just smirked.

"Knowing him, it'll be both," Derek muttered. He was holding onto Stiles' hand and for the moment, he was refusing to let go.

"We'll see you at the hospital, okay?" Marcie called out, leaving with Grant and Li.

The others realised they had to get to the hospital sooner rather than later and started through the forest, heading for their cars or straight to the hospital.

Chris didn't want to let go of Allison, but Peter convinced him to let Allison go with Boyd and Erica, as he'd be able to focus on his anchor at a distance. Rafe sat beside Scott in the cruiser, the Sheriff sitting on the other side of Scott in the back of the cruiser, while Chris sat in the passenger seat. Peter was heading to the driver's seat, only to be stopped by Stiles.

"Don't you have to be going? Important fight at the hospital, loved ones possibly dying, etc.?" Peter asked pointedly.

"If you hurt _anyone_ \- my father, Malia, Derek, any of my friends, or my pack - I will hunt you down myself, understood?"

There was something in Stiles' eyes that stopped Peter's usual sarcastic retort, and he looked from the car (the occupants were obviously listening, though they pretended not to), to where Derek was with his small initial pack and Allison. The three werewolves were standing closer to Stiles than any others and Peter realised what he meant by 'my pack'. He gave a brief nod. "I understand, Alpha."

...

End of the twenty-fourth chapter.

Author's note: Teresa's backstory

Teresa grew up in a city and spent a lot of her teenage years doing parkour to keep her werecougar sated. She healed easier and was able to run without shifting but it was still a thrill and she could always analyse everything and everywhere she could/would jump in advance. She has a view to retire somewhere with a forest, but in the meantime, she'll stick with her parkour. Teresa was very surprised to get an application & invitation from the FBI, but thought it sounded cool and decided to apply.


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter Twenty Five

...

The hospital was full of people lying on the floor. It was late (or early, considering it was almost two o'clock in the morning) but it was also a full moon, so there were more people than usual for the time. They were trembling and scared, a few people coughing miserably here and there, but they weren't dead or injured as far as Isaac and Jackson could tell. They both ignored the townspeople, stepping around them quietly as they followed Ethan's scent that was winding through the hospital corridors.

"Ethan will be all right, won't he?" Isaac asked.

"He'd better be," Jackson snarled.

He tried the two-way radio again but there was no response from Ethan or even Mrs. McCall, so they had to keep following their noses to find Ethan. Neither one wanted to mention that they were following the scent of Ethan's blood.

...

Tomika was regretting letting Lydia drive. She still didn't have the greatest control over her banshee powers, as evidenced by Lydia cutting their conversation short, her eyes glazing over, and the obvious tilt to her head as she listened to something beyond their normal hearing range. Tomika knew that they'd get to their destination safely, so she took her notebook out and placed it on her lap, her hands flat on the book as she listened as well.

White noise filled her ears and Tomika knew that her notebook was filling with words and her own familiar handwriting, so she didn't allow herself to focus on the noise itself. She would wait until it had finished, just as she'd been taught.

Tomika shuddered back to reality as the car came to a slow rolling stop. Her hands trembled slightly as she opened her notebook, flipping to what had recently been a blank page. What she read made her jaw clench and the arms on both her arms _and_ the back of her neck stand on end.

A soft moan beside her indicated that Lydia was aware of her surroundings again, and she looked over to the redhead with concern.

"Where are we?" Lydia asked, looking around at what was definitely _not_ the hospital.

"According to my notebook - and the letterbox - this is the Clarkson residence," Tomika said, looking from the cookie-cutter house to Lydia.

"Your guess is as good as mine," Lydia said, shrugging.

...

Sean had organised something with Sara before she started on the unconscious Druid, and Kuhle had been instructed to help Sean carry the unconscious hunters once Sara had finished. Sean had then moved around the Nemeton's clearing, gathering all of the fallen weapons, ammunition, and other paraphernalia that had fallen to the forest ground. Kuhle was 95% certain that Sean was muttering about littering and destroying ecosystems under his breath, but that other 5% was - more importantly - focused on Sara and what she was doing.

"What are you doing?" Kuhle asked in what he hoped was a conversational and curious tone, rather than an interrupting and annoying one.

"Wiping their memories. Hopefully they'll become gainfully employed without too much trouble," Sara murmured distractedly, a green mist covering the hunters' foreheads.

Kuhle considered that for a moment, then looked from the hunters to Deaton to Sara. "What are you going to do about him?"

Sara didn't respond for a long moment, her expression telling Kuhle that she may not have been aware of his question or even his presence in the first place. He fell silent and continued to help Sean pick up the mess around the clearing, wondering how long the blood stains would take to disappear.

It took Kuhle a moment to realise that the soft green glow had disappeared and he looked over to Sara immediately. She looked paler than usual and he started towards her, stopping short when Sara held up a hand.

"I'm fine. Just takes a few minutes to recover when there's multiple people involved," Sara explained. She moved over to the Nemeton, walking gingerly as though everything ached - after the fight they'd just been in, Kuhle wouldn't be surprised if that was actually the case, with the bruises to match - and she leaned against the large tree carefully. "Help Sean with the rest of them; I'll answer your question when you're back."

Kuhle nodded firmly, filled with a warmth that she'd even acknowledged his question at all. Sean simply looked as though his headache had returned. Kuhle hefted one of the larger hunters up over his shoulder. Sean shifted and gathered the rest into his arms, leaving Kuhle somewhere between stunned and awed at the sight. There was a soft noise like a wind through leaves that could have been a snort of amusement, and then Sean left the clearing, Kuhle struggling to follow after him with the heavy hunter.

Sara didn't watch them go. Instead, she kept her eyes on the Druid, who was still bound to the tree, the arrow still embedded in his shoulder, and blood running in thick rivulets down his arm. His chest was rising and falling slowly, eyelids calm and heavy, and for all intents and purposes, Deaton looked as though he was unconscious. Sara knew a thing or two about things not looking the way they should and didn't believe the Druid's ruse for a second.

The night around them was quiet, and a forest like this was rarely quiet; it felt as though everything and everyone waited with bated breath for her to speak or act or _do something_. Some might have felt powerful at the idea but Sara simply felt unsettled and vaguely nauseous. She'd never felt comfortable being the centre of attention.

"I could turn you into a Mute Man, you know," she said, her voice just loud enough to reach the Druid's ears.

Deaton twitched, almost involuntarily, at the thought. A Druid without a mouth, without words, was a Druid without power. He stopped pretending to be unconscious and looked up at her, glaring.

"I did consider removing your memory of magic, but this town _reeks_ of magic, and the memories would spring back into your mind like a rubber band sooner rather than later," Sara said.

"Far sooner than you would like," Deaton agreed easily, his tone pleasant and conversational as though they were discussing the weather.

Sara ignored him. "There are other things that I could do; things that not even the books would dare mention."

This made Deaton shift uneasily as there was plenty that the books _did_ mention that were far more unpleasant than he'd like. "The Argents were going to kill me. They... they threatened the town, Scott, and even Stiles and the other recruits. I did what I had to do to save them."

By this time, Kuhle and Sean had returned to the clearing, Sean dropping Kuhle before shifting back.

Kuhle frowned as he looked between Sara and Deaton. "Cool motive, still attempted murder. You knew what would happen if Scott attacked the Nemeton with Stiles inside it," he said pointedly.

Deaton's jaw clenched and he glared, but he didn't reply.

"Besides, what about the Nemeton the first time around? You didn't have to kill three teenagers to find their parents," Sara added.

"The Nemeton needed to be fully charged to protect the town; I've only done what I've done in the interests of the greater good! I didn't realise until afterwards how... powerful Stiles would be; I've been trying to balance the Nemeton out by removing the shoots from the stump."

"Which coincidentally released the prisoners from the Nemeton," Sean pointed out.

Deaton shrugged the best he could while bound to a tree with an arrow lodged in his shoulder. "I knew they would be able to handle them."

"That's **not** how they should have been handled! There are different ways to test people's strength - their strength of mind, character, whatever - _this_ was not it. There's even a Rite of Strength, for fuck's sakes!" Sara said, rolling her eyes.  
Kuhle snorted in disbelief so hard that he almost choked on his tonsils.

"Even if the Nemeton was too powerful, you could have released its energy in a far more effective and _safe_ manner. The Amelioration of Power, for example?" Sara added, her voice scathing and sarcastic.

"How do you know about that?" Deaton asked sharply, glaring at her suspiciously.

Sara rolled her eyes again. "I dated a Druid for a year. Despite all the secrecy with you guys, you just can't resist arguing when you think you're right. Like about magical energy transfers and which transfer was better: the Druid's Rite of Power Amelioration or the witch's Power Plexus Blessing?"

"Of course, I think the witch's Blessing is safest. It's not even bias, just common sense! The Blessing distributes the power and energy between the network - which, by the way, the Nemeton is linked in a _network_ to every other tree in this forest, ergo _safety, no death required!_ \- whereas the Rite comes back to the Druid instead."

"What does that mean?" Kuhle asked, looking between the three adults and trying not to sound like a confused child.

"It means that if a Druid has someone complete the Rite for them, then they can transfer that person's power - as well as whatever power they're aiming to fix or tap into - back to themselves, therefore increasing the amount of power they have. It basically drains a person dry of their power. So, of course, guess which one you coerced _three teenagers_ into doing?" Sara snapped, glaring at Deaton. Her fierce expression faded after a moment as she looked at Deaton properly; he seemed tense and angry, and it wasn't just about her knowing about the Druid's Rite. "But something went wrong, didn't it?"

...

Stiles wished - not for the first time - that Roscoe just had a _little_ more power under her hood. He didn't need anything flashy, really, just something that got him from A to B at a faster pace than he was currently going. Stiles was almost positive that he could run faster than Roscoe at this point. Boyd didn't seem to mind the speed, enjoying the fact that he was driving for the first time in... a long time. He could scent Stiles' annoyance and looked at him in the rear view mirror.

"Do you want me to get out and push instead?" Boyd asked, grinning.

"We're almost there," Stiles said, seeing the sign for the hospital up ahead.

Outside the Jeep, Caleb, Tasha, and Okami raced ahead to get to the hospital that much sooner and check that they weren't leading their Alpha into a trap. Well, not straight away, since it was obvious that this whole thing was a trap.

"I thought I'd seen the end of hospitals after getting bitten, y'know," Erica muttered, her shoulders tense and eyes flashing gold.

Allison took her hand and squeezed. "Remember the asylum?"

"The what?" Derek asked, confused at the way Erica suddenly lost her tension and smiled at Allison's words, her eyes filtering from gold back to brown.

"There was more than a train station in limbo; we found an old run-down asylum and then destroyed the rest of it," Erica said, grinning sharply.

"Very cathartic," Boyd added, glancing in the rear view mirror to smile at Erica.

Stiles and Derek didn't know what to say so they simply nodded in response. They arrived at the hospital just as a loud howl sounded: it was Ethan and he was in pain. Boyd hurried to park the Jeep and the others all clambered out, running towards the doors. Okami, Tasha, and Caleb were waiting for them, their claws and fangs out.

"Hey, Batman?" Erica called. "What's this guy look like? Y'know, so I don't accidentally kill him?"

"Remember the twins I told you about?" Boyd asked before Stiles could reply.

Erica's eyes bled to gold immediately and she snarled. "Never mind. It definitely won't be an accident when I kill him."

...

Malia arrived at the hospital with the rest of her group behind her. Yelena had managed to keep up with them at first, admitting along the way that she was a long distance runner. Long distance usually meant a slower pace though, so when Malia looked back as they left the forest line, she saw that Yelena was red-faced and winded. Not bothering to wait or ask, Malia grabbed Yelena and carried her the rest of the way.

When she was on her feet once more, Yelena straightened out her shirt, then nodded at Malia. "Thanks."

"No problem," Malia said with a shrug, heading into the hospital.

Jackson and Isaac's scents were already there so Malia started to follow them through the hospital. Jorge reached out and stopped her before she got too far, and Malia tried not to glare as she looked back at him. "What?!"

"They're following Ethan's scent," Jorge said.

"So?"

"There's three trails that cross over each other; the hunters have used Ethan's scent to confuse anyone following it," Jorge said. Then he looked and nodded over to a different hallway. "Scott's mother's scent is that way. It's more likely that they'd keep their hostages together."

Malia nodded. "Lead the way."

"Are you sure he's right?" Liam asked, looking from Ethan's hallway to Melissa's.

"Dude, Malia said Jorge's got a better sense of smell than her, and he does that, y'know, biting thing," Mason said, demonstrating with a snap of his teeth.

"Jackson and Isaac are heading into the hunters' trap; we'll help them," Yukimi said, putting her hands on Liam and Mason's shoulders.

"Good idea. Scream if you need us," Malia said, heading down the hallway with Yelena and Jorge.

"I was just going to use the two-way radio, but whatever," Liam muttered.

Mason rolled his eyes at his best friend and they walked through the other hallway, hoping to find Jackson and Isaac before the hunters did.

...

The Sheriff wondered - not for the first time since getting into the car - if it would have been easier and less painful if he'd just walked to the hospital instead. He wasn't bleeding out thanks to something Sara had done to the bullet wound, and the pain was nothing but a dull ache thanks to Scott, but dear god, the flirting between Chris and Peter was starting to make him ill. Rafe, on the other hand, looked as though he was trying to concentrate on nothing but the fact that he and Scott were both alive.

"If you snap at me one more time, I _will_ make you submit," Peter said.

"Just try it, Hale," Chris replied.

The Sheriff groaned. "I should've let Parrish carry me to the damn hospital."

Scott frowned. "Are you still in pain?"

Rafe coughed, covering a laugh. "Not from the bullet wound, I'd gather."

"I don't get it," Scott said, his frown deepening.

In the front, Peter continued to flirt with Chris under the guise of teaching him. There was a moment, almost three minutes later, when Chris cried out in surprise. He'd finally found Allison as his anchor. Almost immediately, his eyes returned to their usual colour and he removed his fingers - previously claws - from the dashboard.

"She's all right," Chris said, his relief obvious in every syllable.

"Good. Now let's see how you go with using your claws for the first time," Peter murmured, passing the sign for Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital.

A howl filled the night around them, Scott sitting up as his eyes filtered to red. "That was Ethan."

...

Teresa, Mia, Jade had managed to find one of the cars and Mia was driving as though Ghost Riders were after them. Jade held onto the door handle tightly as they curved around a bend in the road, two tyres lifting.

"If you make me scream my own name, I will haunt you for the rest of time," Jade snapped when all four wheels were flat on the asphalt once more.

Mia tried not to grin _too_ much. "You guys get superpowers, I get to drive."

Teresa was in the backseat, her eyes screwed shut tightly and her claws embedded in the seat on either side of her thighs. The next time Mia offered to drive, Teresa swore that she was going to run instead.

"It's not superpowers," Jade said, her angry tone turning queasy as they rounded another bend in the road.

Laughter bubbled up out of Mia and she drove that little bit faster.

...

Jackson's head was spinning and he'd was tempted to put his fist through the wall in frustration. Ethan's scent was leading them throughout the hospital without actually leading them _to him_. Jackson was certain that they would have had a better chance of finding Ethan if they'd just searched every fucking room one by one instead.

"We'll find him, Jacks," Isaac murmured, even though they could both scent his worry and doubt.

Even if they did find Ethan, they had no idea if he would be alive and whole or in pieces.

Jackson swallowed and forced himself to _think_. He pressed the heel of his palm against his forehead, wishing that his head would stop spinning. "Maybe we should split up; we'll cover more ground."

Isaac shook his head firmly. "No; we're finding Ethan together."

Jackson was equal parts annoyed and relieved. "Fine, but we're leaving this trail; it's leading us around in circles."

A howl broke out, long and loud, and it was one they both recognised: Ethan. They ran through the hallways, following the sound rather than the scent, and barely paid any attention to their surroundings.

When they came to a stop, Isaac realised that he recognised the hallway, the doorway up ahead, and he put an arm across Jackson's chest to stop him from going any further. "It's a trap; that wasn't Ethan."

"We both heard him!" Jackson hissed, his voice quiet though he wasn't entirely sure _why_. "Ethan's in there and he's in pain!"

A gun cocked behind them, the sound practically echoing in the hallway. They both froze when they recognised the scent of wolfsbane bullets.

"You are both right and wrong: the blue-eyed werewolf is in pain, but he is not in that room. Now move forward," the woman snapped, her gun pressed into Isaac's spine.

Jackson snarled under his breath but clutched Isaac's hand tightly and they both walked towards the door marked 'Morgue'.

...

End of the twenty-fifth chapter.

Author's note: Mia's backstory

Mia basically grew up on a racetrack. Her mother's a mechanic (as are her two brothers, an uncle, and both of her late grandparents) and races in her spare time. Mia's been driving since she was eleven years old (though there's a proudly-framed photo of Mia 'driving' at the age of six - all under supervision, of course) and eventually started street racing at the age of fourteen. At sixteen, she borrowed one of her mother's cars to race the largest street race the town had ever seen (well, most of the town, at least; most citizens were asleep and oblivious). Mia won the race against all odds, but was arrested that same night. Her juvenile records were sealed, but it was her mother's disappointment that made her change her ways. (Speaking of change, she can change a tyre in 2 seconds flat.)  
Mia's favourite movies are the Fast & Furious ones because they're so cheesy and she loves the cars. Hobbs/The Rock absolutely _didn't_ inspire her to join the FBI. (He totally did.)


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter Twenty Six

...

"I have been shot in the leg, I'm not an invalid, and if you _dare_ try to carry me into the hospital, I will have someone shoot you in a far more painful place than the leg."

Scott smiled at the Sheriff and quickly stepped back, hands raised in a gesture of peace. "Yes, sir."

"Good. Now, go find your mother," the Sheriff said.

Scott didn't even try to argue, running from the police cruiser straight into the hospital. Chris and Peter started after Scott, knowing that Allison and Malia were both inside already.

"I guess that leaves me to help you inside," Rafe said with a wry grin, offering the Sheriff his hand.

Sliding out of the cruiser, the Sheriff stood on one foot and allowed Rafe to help him inside, walking gingerly on his injured leg. They both stood still at the sight of the people still lying on the floor, Rafe frowning when he realised that no one was guarding them.

"Anyone for pancakes?"

The question was so unexpected that Rafe couldn't help but stare at the Sheriff, wondering if he'd managed to hit his head somewhere along the way.

"We're out of syrup," someone answered, perplexing Rafe further.

"All right, the coast is clear; you can get up now," the Sheriff said.

There was a sigh of relief from most of the adults on the floor and people slowly started to sit up. A few stayed in the waiting room, some doctors and nurses tending to the patients who were still injured, sick or otherwise indisposed, and other people just left the hospital entirely without looking back.

The Sheriff realised that Rafe was still looking at him in confusion and he nodded over to a spare chair. "I'll explain once I'm sitting down."

Rafe nodded and helped the Sheriff across the small waiting room, lowering him to the plastic chair carefully. A nurse came over a moment later to check the Sheriff's wound.

"Figured the townspeople had had enough of being kidnapped or used as hostages when things... happen, so we organised a town meeting about it a few months ago. Created a phrase to indicate whether people were safe. If they knew something I didn't, there's a different phrase they can answer with to let me know."

"And it had to be about pancakes?" Rafe asked incredulously.

The Sheriff shrugged. "It's more discrete than calling out 'is everything all right?' and potentially getting a wrong or forced answer. Besides, it was a late meeting and most people were hungry."

"And what if someone was at the meeting who plans on hurting people?" Rafe asked, his voice low.

"It's a risk I'm willing to take for the safety of the rest of the town," the Sheriff replied, though god knew the same thought had crossed his mind before, during, and several times since the meeting had taken place. At least he'd convinced the Mayor that the town meeting didn't have to be minuted, so there was no public record of it anywhere. "Has anyone seen Teddy?" the Sheriff asked the room in general, not seeing the guard around.

"He was knocked out and dragged away earlier," his nurse replied.

"Which direction?" Rafe asked.

"They took him down that way, towards the security office," the nurse said, pointing down one of the corridors.

"Do you know where Melissa McCall is?" Rafe asked, the nurse shaking her head briefly.

Scott was nowhere in sight and Rafe had no idea which corridor he'd taken. He hesitated when he looked around the room at large and the Sheriff in particular.

"Go on, McCall; I'll deal with this. It's just a flesh wound," the Sheriff added with a grin.

Rafe nodded in thanks, picked a corridor, and hoped for the best.

...

Coming to an abrupt stop in front of the hospital - both Jade and Teresa were grateful to whoever invented seat belts - Mia was out of the car and heading to the front door. People were coming out of the doors, some looking as though they should have stayed inside the hospital for treatment, others looking as though they wanted nothing more than to go home and sleep off their nightmare. By the time Teresa managed to get her claws out of the seat, Mia was already in the hospital and Jade had disappeared from sight.

Teresa jogged into the hospital waiting room and saw the Sheriff being treated by a nurse. Mia was beside him with her notebook out, scribbling furiously and frowning at the pages, a deep line between her eyebrows.

"What're you writing?" Teresa asked, trying to read her notebook upside down unsuccessfully.

"There's a map of the hospital over there, can you bring it over?" Mia asked.

Teresa looked from Mia to the map on the wall and then back again. "You mean the giant map that's built into the wall itself?"

"There's a portable map at the triage station," a nurse said, trying not to look too amused.

"Right, that too." Teresa headed to the triage station, grabbed a small handful of maps just in case, and returned to Mia. "Here you go. Anything else?"

"Yeah; we'll need to fight our way to get into the security office. I think the Calaveras are playing everyone like rats in a maze."

Teresa grinned. "Now _that_ I can do," she said, looking to the map to find where out exactly where the security office was.

...

Kuhle looked between Sara, Sean, and Deaton, and wondered if anything they said tonight would _ever_ make sense. "How can a ritual go wrong?"

"The Nemeton chose him instead of letting the power return, as it was _meant_ to do," Deaton said, sounding frustrated.

"It wasn't _meant_ to do that at all!" Sara snapped. "The power is _meant_ to be shared! The Nemeton knows that better than you do!"

As Sara and Deaton argued, Sean made his way across the small clearing to stand beside Kuhle. "Are you all right?" Sean asked, realising that he probably should have checked on all of the recruits before they'd left.

Kuhle frowned, looking between the Nemeton and Sean. "The Nemeton is just a tree; how did it choose anything?"

"The Nemeton is definitely more than a tree," Sean replied. "It was probably one of the first trees in this forest, and as such, all other trees in this forest are connected to it. It is both the beacon and protector of Beacon Hills, and something with that much power can certainly choose its own champion."

Kuhle considered this for a long moment. "So... why did it choose Stilinski?"

Not expecting _that_ , Sean almost laughed. He barely refrained from doing so, and schooled his expression into something more professional. "There's more to some people than meets the eye."

...

Stiles tried not to grin too widely when he saw Tasha sidle up to Erica, while Okami went to Boyd's side, and Caleb to Allison's. He was so proud of his little pack.

Derek nudged him sharply, silently telling him with his eyebrows to _concentrate_ and _focus_ , and Stiles fought the urge to roll his eyes in return.

They hadn't seen hide nor hair of the Calaveras - or anyone other than the civilians in the waiting room - since they'd set foot into the hospital. It put Stiles' nerves on edge, and something niggled at the back of his mind, telling him that all of this was _wrong_. Now Stiles just had to work out why.

A howl pierced the air and the werewolves turned towards the source abruptly.

"Who was it?" Stiles asked, licking his lips nervously.

"Ethan," Derek replied.

"But we're following his scent, aren't we? That's the wrong way," Stiles pointed out with a frown.

"His scent goes all over the place; it could be the right way," Erica argued, folding her arms across her chest.

"Yeah, but this is the only way that both Ethan and Melissa's scent goes, right?" Stiles asked, looking between the werewolves.

"Based on the scrubs you found, yeah," Caleb said, shrugging.

"Then we continue this way. Hunters like keeping hostages together," Boyd said, his voice stern and firm.

Erica's arms fell to her sides. "Fine."

"Can we continue this conversation while we walk, honey?" Tasha asked, reminding everyone that they were standing in a hallway when they really needed to get going.

"We're getting closer, aren't we?" Allison asked as everyone continued down the hallway.

"Their scent is definitely getting stronger," Okami said with a nod.

"Stiles? What's wrong?" Derek asked, realising that he hadn't moved with the rest of the group.

"We haven't seen anyone except civilians since arriving, and the cameras are following us," Stiles said, moving from one side to another, watching as the camera in the corner followed his movement. "This whole thing is a trap."

"Then they'd better be prepared for us," Allison said, jaw clenched as she held onto her crossbow tighter.

...

Malia skidded to a stop just behind Jorge, wondering why he'd stopped suddenly. Looking over his shoulder, Malia could see the answer clearly: Ethan and Melissa were strapped to chairs and a myriad of explosives were strapped to them. Large red numbers were counting down - they had twenty minutes left.

"Fuck me."

Malia agreed entirely with Yelena's statement. Melissa and Ethan were desperately trying to communicate something, but they were gagged; Ethan had been shot with a wolfsbane bullet and didn't look like he would be much help. Melissa's eyes widened when she realised that Malia intended to come into the room and she shook her head. Malia stopped mid-step and retreated, sniffing carefully. Beside her, Jorge did the same thing, and he soon indicated to a tripwire near their feet. Malia stepped over it carefully, crossed the room, and pulled the duct tape off Melissa's mouth in a sharp motion.

She immediately spat out a damp piece of cloth and looked up to Malia, her eyes watering. "Get out of here! Run, get as many people out as you can! They've got - "

Melissa's entire body shook as the acrid scent and buzzing sound of electricity filled the air. Malia's eyes turned blue as she spun around, unsuccessfully trying to find who had electrocuted her. The buzzing noise stopped a moment later and Melissa's head hung forward, her chest heaving as she gasped for air.

"Now, now, Mrs. McCall; you don't want to spoil the surprise so soon, do you?" a voice asked.

Malia looked up to see a camera and speaker in the wall. She snarled, tempted to rip the damn things out completely, but then the voice continued.

"More of your group will be arriving soon. Feel free to discuss the situation amongst yourselves," the voice said, sounding amused.

The speaker went silent and the camera moved to face the door.

"Fucking _psycho hunters_ is the situation!" Liam yelled.

"Isn't that a job requirement for being a hunter?"

"Not funny, Stiles," Malia snapped.

"Okay, no jokes, that's... _fuck me_."

"Tripwire on the doorway, there's a bomb inside, Ethan's been shot with wolfsbane, Melissa's hooked up to electricity and has already been electrocuted at least once," Yelena said, ticking everything off on her fingers.

" _Fuck me_ ," Stiles repeated for emphasis.

"I'll deal with the bomb."

"Where the fuck did you come from?!" Mason asked, his eyes widening when he saw Parrish standing further down the hallway.

"Not that I'm complaining about the view, but _why_ are you shirtless and covered in ash?" Erica asked, a mixture of emotions from curious, amused, and confused.

Parrish ignored them both and walked into the small room, stepping over the tripwire. Looking around the room, Parrish found a pair of scissors and got to work.

"Uh, who's got the best nose? We need to see if we can find where the electric current is coming from so we can unhook Mrs. McCall," Stiles asked, looking between the group.

"Jorge's sense of smell's better than mine," Malia said distractedly, standing precariously on a chair to rip the camera right off the wall.

"Great; Jorge, you're up. Malia, take a few people to try to find the person who was talking through the speakers. See if you can find a remote to stop the bomb, just in case they've got a failsafe."

"Jackson and Isaac should've been here already," Allison murmured, frowning.

"I think they already are," Stiles said, rubbing a hand over his face. "They would've been so caught up in following Ethan's scent, they didn't stop to think things over."

There was a loud grunt from the room and they looked inside to see Jorge pulling a cord out of the wall. The buzzing electrical noise faded and a expression of pure relief fell across most of their group's faces.

"So we have five minutes to find Jackson and Isaac, disable a bomb, and... what else?" Allison asked.

"Well, we're bottle-necking ourselves in this room, there's a camera right down the hall, so I'm expecting someone to turn up with weapons sooner rather than later," Stiles muttered.

"If we go to find Isaac and Jackson, what're you going to do?" Erica asked, realising that Stiles was heading into the room with the bomb inside.

"I'm going to find out what kind of wolfsbane Ethan's been shot with and try to save his life. You can beat him up later," Stiles added over his shoulder, stepping over the tripwire.

He reached into his vest to pull out a flat vacuum-sealed package. It was separated into small compartments, each one filled with a different coloured powder: all of the wolfsbane samples that Stiles had collected from Argent - some with his knowledge - before he'd left for the FBI.

"I thought you'd found my supply," Chris muttered from the doorway.

"You found us faster than I expected," Caleb said, looking impressed.

"I followed my anchor," he said with a nod to Allison, who smiled in response.

"Where's Scott?" Stiles asked, borrowing the scissors from Parrish to cut open the first compartment in his wolfsbane package.

"He must have followed Jackson and Isaac's scents. You are all aware of the ticking bomb in the middle of the room, correct?" Peter asked.

"No shit," Liam muttered, rolling his eyes.

Ethan screamed as Stiles put another lot of wolfsbane powder in his wound, and Derek hurried to hold him down in the chair.

"Not that one either," Stiles muttered to himself, opening the next compartment.

"We'll get as many people out of the hospital as possible," Okami said, Tasha, Caleb, Mason and Liam offering to help her.

"Wait." Melissa's voice was soft, hardly more than a croak or whisper, but everyone turned their attention to her immediately. "They've got... Teddy in the... security room."

"Teddy's on tonight? Ah, shit," Stiles cursed, distracted for the moment.

"What's wrong with that? He's a civilian, isn't he?" Allison asked, frowning.

Stiles snorted. "You honestly think a _civilian_ would choose to be the hospital's security guard? In Beacon Hills?"

"Stop with the sarcasm, Stiles; what is Teddy?" Chris snarled.

A whirring sound from the hallway distracted everyone and they looked to the cameras, confused when they saw that they were all powering off.

"Hey guys; we got the security office under control. Mia's deadly with a pen," Teresa snickered over the two-way radio.

"Shit, I forgot we had those."

Peter grabbed Chris' two-way radio. "Hello, my dear. As you have access to the cameras, would you mind telling us where the rest of our little group are being held?"

There was a moment of silence and then Mia's voice came over the radio. "Can we talk to someone who doesn't sound like a sleazy car salesman?"

Peter frowned at the radio and Derek tried not to laugh outright at his expression. "That's my Uncle Peter. Go ahead, Mia."

" _Peter Hale?_ I thought... Never mind. The Calaveras took Agent McCall into the morgue, but they've covered the camera in there and we don't know what they're doing to him. There's another room, but no sign of Isaac and Jackson, just lots of weapons. We think they've hidden them somewhere."

"There's, like, a billion weapons. Seriously, how did they cross state lines with that stuff?" Teresa asked.

"Oh good, something to look forward to," Peter muttered.

"Is that an actual real-life bomb?"

"We can't see you, Marcie," Yelena said, nodding briefly to Mohammed and Grant.

"Oh, right, sorry. And sorry we're late, _someone_ got lost in the forest," Marcie said, Grant turning red beside her. "So... is it a real bomb?"

"It's a real bomb; stop sounding so excited," Stiles muttered.

"Y'know, this would be a lot easier if there was silence!" Parrish snapped.

"Uh, is it meant to be doing that?" Grant asked, the pure fear in his voice, expression, and chemo signals making everyone follow his gaze to where the bomb was counting down at a faster pace: _ten minutes, nine minutes, eight minutes, seven minutes, six minutes_.

The timer stopped at five minutes and started to count down again at a normal pace.

" _Shit_. Split up into two groups: half of you rescue Isaac and Jackson - feel free to leave Jackson if you really have to," Stiles added, ignoring Ethan's groaning noise that turned into a pained whimper. " - and the other half get as many people out of this hospital as possible. Teddy can help, if he's awake in the security room."

No one had to be told twice, and soon there were five people left in the room: Ethan, Melissa, Parrish, Stiles, and Derek.

"How're you going with the wolfsbane?" Derek asked.

"Up to the sixth one so far. Next time, I'm smearing some on the outside as a sample so we can get through this quicker."

"I meant what I said about silence," Parrish said tersely.

"Then you're stuck in the wrong room with the wrong person," Stiles muttered in return.

Forcing himself to be quiet and work through the wolfsbane as fast as he dared, Stiles lit the next lot of wolfsbane and shoved it into the bullet wound. Again, nothing happened but a small whimper of pain from Ethan. Gritting his teeth - he was running out of wolfsbane; _what if the Calaveras used a different strain?_ \- Stiles opened the next compartment.

Three types of wolfsbane later, Ethan roared, his eyes turning blue as he arched off the chair, the black and purple lines retreating and black goo oozing out of the bullet wound as he healed. Derek held Ethan down so he wouldn't accidentally set off the bomb.

"You okay?" Stiles asked.

Ethan was panting just as shallowly as Melissa, but he managed a nod. "Where's Isaac? Jackson?"

"We're not sure, but the Calaveras are in the morgue. The hunters used your scent to lay false trails," Derek said.

"They're alive, right?" Ethan asked, eyes wide.

"The Calaveras will probably want to use them as bargaining chips if anything goes wrong, so they'll keep them alive," Stiles said certainly.

Ethan snarled under his breath, looking ready to rip the bomb off his chest, _screw_ the consequences for anyone else. Derek's hands tightened on his shoulders, just in case.

"Done," Parrish said, wiping sweat off his forehead.

"Are you sure?" Stiles asked, seeing that the timer still counting down.

"Positive; it's battery operated," Parrish said, taking the timer and dislodging the batteries from the back of the small device.

He showed the frozen numbers to Stiles, who breathed a sigh of relief. Parrish hurried to remove the bombs from both Melissa and Ethan. Ethan didn't say a word, he simply broke the chair to pieces on his way out, following the signs down to the morgue.

"You're welcome!" Parrish called after him sarcastically.

Melissa stood up, slow and careful, her hands trembling. "You two find Scott for me, understood?" she said, looking to Stiles and Derek.

"Of course," Stiles said with a firm nod.

"Thank you. I'll help the others get the patients out of the hospital," Melissa said, her voice hoarse.

"You can barely stand," Derek said, frowning at her.

"I'll help you, Mrs. McCall," Parrish offered.

"Thank you, Deputy," she said with a brief smile, taking his arm.

"It's because he's not wearing a shirt, isn't it?" Stiles muttered under his breath as they left.

Derek snorted. "Come on, let's go make sure your pack's alive."

"Hey, can you scent Lydia anywhere? I haven't seen her yet. Or Tomika," Stiles added, returning the wolfsbane packet to his vest. "Or Ari or Jade. They were both pretty badly hurt; think they're okay?"

"I hope so. We'll find them as soon as we can," Derek promised.

...

End of the twenty-sixth chapter.


	27. Chapter 27

Chapter Twenty Seven

...

Lydia knocked on the Clarkson's front door, hoping that there would be an answer by kind and understanding people who didn't mind being woken up in the early hours of the morning. She knew that her chances were slim and that if she was on the other side of the door, the knocking would be ignored in favour of more sleep. So when the door opened almost a second later, Lydia was completely surprised. She was even more surprised to see who had opened the door.

"Satomi?"

The werewolf smiled when she recognised Lydia, though her smile did look a little tight and she seemed confused as to why she was there. "Good morning, Lydia. Are you well?"

"Yes, thank you. Um, what are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the very same question," Satomi pointed out.

"Right, of course. Oh, this is Tomika. She's with the FBI, and - "

Satomi's eyes widened as she took in the newcomer and she glanced over her shoulder, obviously hearing something that neither banshee could. "It is early, please come back tomorrow."

"... _The Calaveras took Agent McCall into the morgue, but they've covered the camera in there and we don't know what they're doing to him_.. _._ "

Satomi's eyes burned red as she registered the words from Tomika's two-way radio. There was movement behind her, and before Lydia or Tomika could react, Satomi had turned and slammed her palms into two people's chests. Lydia's heart raced and she wondered if Satomi was stopping the couple from leaving or trying to keep them steady. Her arms were covered in black lines, so Lydia guessed it was the latter. She looked up and saw that the couple's eyes were glowing white and they both had several rows of sharp teeth.

"Wendigoes," she breathed, surprised yet again.

Beside her, Tomika stepped back, her eyes wide with fear.

"Calm down. It's all right. They're not here for you; you're safe," Satomi said, her voice calm and reassuring even as her claws pressed against the couple's chests a little firmer.

"We're just here to talk to you," Lydia said, hoping she sounded calm and not at all threatening.

"Not you; be quiet!" Satomi snapped.

Lydia fell silent. She frowned as she tried to fit the pieces together: the Clarkson's were wendigoes and they had felt threatened when they heard about the Calaveras or possibly Agent McCall, though the latter seemed highly unlikely. She felt as though she was still missing an important piece of the puzzle, and tried to work it out.

It took another minute before Satomi completely calmed the Clarksons and she turned her attention back to the two banshees. "Come in and close the door behind you."

Lydia didn't need to be told twice, though Tomika hesitated.

"Come inside, you're letting the cold air in," Satomi said, waving her inside.

Figuring it wouldn't be a good first impression if she walked in holding her gun, Tomika let her hand fall past her holster and she walked into the home of two cannibalistic wendigoes, completely defenceless.

...

Rafe checked to see the hallway was clear before rounding the corner. Before he had even made it three steps down the hallway, one of the Calaveras stepped out at the other side. The man seemed pale and he had a defibrillator paddle scorched on his shirt. Rafe smirked at the sight. "I see you've met my ex-wife."

The man was larger than Rafe by far, armed with three weapons that he could see, and looked like he could literally snap Rafe in half. Before Rafe could even _try_ to come up with some sort of strategy that didn't involve getting himself killed, he felt a gun press against his back.

"Agent McCall; I did not expect to see you again so soon," Araya said, smiling to herself.

"I'm happy to keep it that way: I'll leave and you don't have to see me," Rafe offered generously.

Araya didn't bother with a response, she simply pressed the gun into his back harder and told him to move. When they reached the other end of the hallway, Araya's son took Rafe's gun and patted him down, removing his knife as well. Then he glared, pulled his fist back and knocked Rafe out cold.

"That was for my shirt," he muttered.

"Take him to the morgue," Araya said, waving at her son.

Armando nodded, picked Rafe up, and headed down to the morgue without another word.

Rafe woke up when a blast of cold air hit his skin. Darkness surrounded him and Rafe took a moment to breathe deeply through his nose, trying to determine exactly where he was and what he could do.

"How exactly does an FBI agent get captured by an elderly woman half their size?" Jackson snarked. He sounded afraid more than anything, and if there wasn't a wall between them, Rafe was ninety-percent sure that Jackson would be glaring at him with all the fierceness of a person who was truly terrified.

Rafe ignored the jibe and instead tried to listen to the Calaveras' conversation. He wasn't having much success considering the wall between them. He did hear a soft whimper and frowned at the noise, unsuccessfully trying to work out who or what had made the noise.

"Isaac? C'mon, babe, talk to me. You're all right, okay? I'm right here, I promise. We're getting out of here as soon as possible, okay?" Jackson rambled, not even trying to keep the desperation out of his voice this time.

"Can either of you hear what they're saying?" Rafe asked, his voice low and hoping that the Calaveras wouldn't be able to hear him.

There was a long moment of silence, another whimper, and then a soft hiccup and sniffle. "They've got a bomb," Isaac said.

"Okay. That's good to know, Isaac, thank you. Can you hear anything else?" Rafe asked.

Jackson hadn't interrupted or said anything, so he hoped that keeping Isaac preoccupied would help his anxiety, and they could find a way out of this.

There was another moment of silence, this one longer, and Rafe forced himself to stay calm and quiet.

"They're changing the timer from twenty minutes to five. They're arguing about whether they've got enough time to get out before - "

Isaac cut off abruptly and Rafe tensed, straining to listen to what was happening on the other side of the wall. A fist banged against the wall and Rafe breathed through the surprise at the sudden noise.

"Stop talking in there!" Araya snapped, banging against the wall again.

His mind finally caught up - being knocked unconscious and feeling like he was freezing to death certainly didn't help things - and Rafe realised that they'd been locked in the morgue's refrigeration units.

...

Jade was certainly old enough to control her banshee powers without letting them overwhelm her, but sometimes it seemed like the control she had just wasn't good enough for the universe at large. There were times when Jade woke up in the middle of her lounge room with her feet aching as though she'd been walking on asphalt barefoot for several hours, or she blinked and discovered that the whole day had passed without her realising.

Now was another one of those times, and Jade walked through the room in a blurred daze without being aware of her surroundings. She turned a knob here, pulled on metal there, destroyed a length of copper there.

With that task finished, Jade continued walking, propping doors open and closing others without any discernible rhyme or reason.

...

Teddy gasped and sat up, his eyes watering. Looking over to the security station, he saw two women standing there, and frowned, trying to determine if they were friend or foe. Looking around the room, Teddy saw two of the Calaveras crew who had knocked him out; they were either dead or unconscious and one had a pen sticking out of their leg.

"Parrish has disabled the bomb; Melissa's gone with him to help get as many people out of the hospital as possible. The Calaveras probably have a backup option," Stiles' voice came from Mia's two-way radio.

Teddy relaxed when he recognised Stiles' voice and heard that Melissa was all right. Then, without being noticed by either woman, he slipped out of the security room and back into the hospital.

"Fourth floor can't be evacuated; they're on life support. Ensure the backup generators are working and ready to go," Okami said.

"We're on it," Liam said, running off with Mason beside him.

"Uh, that guy who was in here is no longer in here," Teresa said, double-taking when she realised that he wasn't there and she hadn't heard or seen a thing.

"Well, since we're not dead, I say we assume he's a good guy and on our side," Mia replied distractedly, trying to determine where everyone was and how many more patients needed to be evacuated.

"Third floor's done," Caleb reported.

"Second floor's the children's ward; I'm going to need help and fast," Tasha said, a few children starting to cry already, not liking being woken up in the early hours by a complete stranger. "Scratch that," she added.

Teddy nodded to her briefly, the children's tears stopping immediately when they saw him. He smiled at the children and started to whistle, soft at first, the tune becoming louder and more complex. Without a word or noise of complaint, the children left their beds and followed Teddy down the hallway and out of the hospital. Tasha stared after them in shock, the hairs on her arms standing on end, and a cold shiver running up her spine.

 _What was he?!_

...

The smell wafted into the morgue and Araya sniffed deeply, frowning at the foreign scent. The morgue was pristine and smelled _cold_ , but this new scent was overwhelmingly thick and clogging, and far too easy to identify. Still, she'd rather be certain than guess. "Graciela, go check the kitchen!"

Surprised at the demand, but knowing not to question her mother, Graciela ran out of the morgue without even bothering to check if the coast was clear.

Knowing that her hunch - and nose - would be correct, Araya instructed her sons to retrieve the hostages. They would have to lure Scott McCall outside and kill him there instead. It was a shame to waste a perfect plan and spot, but Araya wasn't stupid and she certainly wasn't about to kill herself over one werewolf and his pack, even if the werewolf in question was a True Alpha.

Graciela returned and confirmed Araya's suspicions: the hospital's kitchen had been torn apart and gas was leaking from several large industrial ovens. Graciela also informed Araya that several doors had been shut with zip ties to redirect the gas so that it flowed straight down to the morgue. Their weapons - both the guns they held and the crates they'd brought in - were essentially useless, unless they wanted to die along with whoever they were fighting. Araya's sense of self-preservation was far stronger than that: hunters didn't usually live to die naturally at a ripe old age, after all.

A commotion in the adjoining room had Araya and Graciela hurrying to the doorway. Two of the hostages were already bound, gagged, and hooded, the thick material obscuring their vision. The last hostage - one of the werewolves - was fighting and struggling.

"We do not have time for this. Armando, get him under control and bring him out to the car!" Araya snapped, grabbing the lithe curly-haired werewolf and pushing him out of the room, the tip of her knife pressed into the boy's back to make him move.

Graciela grabbed Agent McCall and followed her mother out, her brother following quickly, both of them leaving Armando to fend for himself without an ounce of regret or sympathy. The rest of the Calaveras' crew followed their leader out.

Jackson's hands were tied with wolfsbane but that didn't mean he wasn't going to fight like a goddamn werewolf anyway. He snarled and launched himself at Armando.

...

Jorge might have a better sense of smell than Malia did, but she was still faster than him. She came to an abrupt stop when she reached the morgue, snarling and growling when she saw the hunter with a knife pressed to Jackson's throat. Even over the scent of gas, Malia could scent that wolfsbane coated the blade, as well as Jackson's emotions: anger, worry, and overwhelming fear.

"Don't come a step closer, girl, or your friend's dead!" Armando snapped.

Malia growled again, a low sound at the back of her throat. Armando didn't have time to react: one moment, the werecoyote was standing in front of him, the next, she was directly in front of them with her hand plunged _in her friend's stomach_. Jackson screamed in pain, his eyes desperately trying to flicker to gold - his wolf desperately trying to keep him alive - despite the wolfsbane rope tied around his wrists.

"You're crazy!" Armando said, mouth dropping open in shock.

Malia grinned, determined and grim, and pushed deeper through Jackson's stomach, past his ribs and spine until her hand was through his body completely. Then she reached through Armando in the same way and _wrenched_ on his spine until it was no longer connected to the rest of his body. Letting go and pulling her hand out the second she saw the light in Armando's eyes fade, Malia tore at the wolfsbane ropes on Jackson's wrists and hoped that she hadn't killed him too.

...

Ethan heard Jackson scream and a cold feeling of dread filled him at the sound. Jackson wouldn't _scream_ in pain, he would howl, which meant that he was human - or as close to it as he could be - and he could be dying. Ethan ran faster, crashing into a wall as he took a corner too fast. Ignoring the rubble and plaster, ignoring the pulse of pain in his still-weary body, Ethan ran into the morgue and stopped short.

Jackson was lying on the floor, Malia kneeling beside him. They were both covered in blood, and there was a _fucking hole in Jackson's stomach_.

"What did you do?!" Ethan snarled, crossing the room in three long strides. He grabbed Malia around the neck and pulled her upright until they were face to face. "What the _fuck_ did you do to him?!" he yelled, eyes blue, fangs extended, and claws drawing blood on her neck.

"She... saved me," Jackson breathed from the floor. "Put her down, Eth."

Ethan dropped Malia immediately and dropped to his knees beside Jackson. His throat was tight and he thought of Aiden for the second time that night. Ethan was vaguely aware of the fact that he was trembling all over, and he sniffled when he saw that the hole was closing up, Jackson's skin and bones and organs repairing themselves. Slower than either one of them would like, but he wasn't dying, he wasn't dead. It was more than Jackson had expected since setting foot back into Beacon Hills, to be honest.

Malia kicked Ethan in the back, her boot sharp against his spine. "You can apologise to me now, asshole."

"Sorry," Ethan said wetly, rubbing his eyes on his forearm. Then he sniffed, turning abruptly. "Where's Isaac? Why's his scent so scared?"

"Calaveras took him as a hostage. They stuck us in the body container things," Jackson said, nodding to where three of the refrigeration units were open.

Ethan wolfed out completely, his shoulders tense with anger. He pressed a quick kiss to Jackson's mouth. "I'll get him back."

"I know you will," Jackson said, nodding firmly.

Ethan ran out of the morgue without looking back.

Malia looked after him, then turned her attention back to Jackson. "So how do the three of you have sex?"

"I really wish I hadn't heard that," Chris groaned as he ran past, Peter stopping in the doorway only when he realised Malia was in the room.

"Everything all right in here, dearest?" he asked, raising an eyebrow when he saw the disfigured body, blood, and the closing hole on Jackson's stomach.

"All right. Have you seen Scott?" Malia asked, frowning.

"No; I thought he came this way?" Peter asked, sniffing and then scrunching his nose up at the overpowering smell of gas.

"I'm pretty sure I wouldn't be on top of a dead guy if Scott'd been the one to rescue me," Jackson muttered.

"Don't be ungrateful," Peter said lightly, though his gaze was cold, and then turned his attention back to Malia and smiled. "Perhaps your friend will be able to catch his scent?" he suggested, then continued down to the morgue's back exit to find Chris.

"Hey, Jorge!" Malia called.

Yelena, Yukimi, and Jorge stopped at the morgue, Yukimi looking vaguely nauseous at the sight before them. Jorge stepped inside, his eyes trained on the dead hunter.

"Can you find Scott? No one's seen him since we got here," Malia said, redirecting Jorge's attention.

"Yeah, sure thing. Can you throw me an arm before I go? I'm kind of starving," Jorge said, his pupils red.

Jackson frowned at the request, but Malia just shrugged. She held Armando's body down with her foot, then grabbed his arm and pulled it off, throwing it to Jorge. Jackson dry heaved at the sight of Jorge eating, and forced himself to look away before he actually threw up.

"On that note, I'm going to turn the gas off so the hospital doesn't get blown to kingdom come despite our best efforts," Yelena muttered, frowning as she wiped a few stray drops of blood off her shirt.

"I'll help," Yukimi offered quickly, both of them leaving.

Dropping the sleeve of Armando's shirt, Jorge spat a watch into his palm, turning it over curiously.

"Jorge! You need to find Scott, remember?" Malia said, snapping her fingers to get his attention again.

"Right. Want a Rolex?" Jorge asked with a grin before sniffing and running down the hallway, heading back to the waiting room.

...

End of the twenty-seventh chapter.


	28. Chapter 28

Chapter Twenty Eight

...

For the most part, Rafe understood the need for the hood, gag, and cuffs, but that didn't mean he had to like them. It was difficult to swallow, the metal bit into his skin, and the most annoying part was that the thick fabric of the hood made it difficult to hear what was going on around him. He was planning on using this opportunity to learn as much about the Calaveras as possible so that he would _finally_ have something solid and concrete to bring them and their cartel down. If not on their operations, then at least on the fact that they were - quite stupidly - kidnapping an FBI agent. He finally had a chance to bring justice to the lives of the people the Calaveras had destroyed: both with their cartel and their hunting.

There was a loud screech of tyres, the bright light from a car's headlights filtering through the gaps in the hood's thread, and in the next moment, a snarling sound reverberated, so loud that even Rafe could hear through hood's thick material. He frowned around his gag, trying to determine what creature had made the sound; he recognised werewolves, werecougars, werecoyotes, and even kitsunes, but this noise was nothing like them. This noise sounded feral, wet, and _hungry_.

Gunfire surrounded him an instant, the bright flashes from guns providing strobe-like effects behind the hood. Rafe desperately tried to figure out what the hell was going on, and then the screams started.

The screams were desperate, terrified, completely and utterly _petrified_ sounds that he'd never heard the likes of before, nor ever wanted to again. In that moment, Rafe was glad he couldn't see what was happening.

The screams all ended with a gurgle or whisper that, unfortunately, Rafe was more familiar with: someone - or several someones, by the sound of the screams - had died. It was confirmed by the screams of two banshees, names echoing and bouncing off the walls around him.

When silence fell once more, Rafe realised that all of the Calaveras and their crew were dead, and they would never come to justice.

 _Fuck_.

...

"The only reason we've survived this long is because we disappeared. We fled the country, changed our names, and we're not going to do that again just because the Calaveras are in town," Sophie Clarkson said, her jaw set and voice firm.

Behind the Clarksons', Satomi shook her head, ensuring that both Lydia and Tomika stayed silent and didn't voice their arguments.

"We could fight..." her husband Nathan said, trailing off abruptly when Sophie glared at him.

"We can't. _I can't_ ," she added, her voice breaking slightly.

"If it means getting one up on the Calaveras, then I can."

Sophie was silent for a long moment. "If anything happens..."

"Satomi will look after Pat, we've discussed that," Nathan said, pressing a kiss to the back of his wife's hand. "We can't keep hiding, Doc," he said, making her smile briefly at the nickname.

"Why can't we? It's worked for the past eighteen years," Sophie murmured, though she didn't meet her husband's gaze, and both Lydia and Tomika could tell that her resolve was starting to waver.

"It's been a long eighteen years. I'd like to stop looking over my shoulder any time we leave town, wouldn't you?"

Sophie looked defeated at that, and nodded slightly. "I won't go to prison for this - or Eichen - I won't let that happen."

"Pat..."

"Pat is in Eichen for his own safety until he learns control. He's being helped in there; we wouldn't be, we'd be treated like criminals," Sophie snapped, fear and anger making her words sharp.

"All right, Doc. I'll make sure of it," Nathan promised, hugging her close and kissing her forehead gently.

Sophie pulled out of his embrace a moment later and turned to the two banshees. "We'll come and fight. But you have to promise me that if anything happens to either of us, that you'll tell our son what happened, okay?"

"Of course, Dr. Clarkson," Tomika said immediately, nodding.

"You said he's in Eichen House?" Lydia prompted gently.

Sophie nodded. "Patrick Clark."

"He escaped last year," Lydia blurted out in surprise.

Both Sophie and Nathan looked upset at the reminder, but it was Sophie who spoke. "It was my fiftieth birthday; Pat wanted to give me my present in person."

Lydia didn't dare ask if Patrick's present _was_ a person. Instead, she simply nodded. "If anything happens, we'll make sure he knows," Lydia promised.

"Thank you," Nathan said. Then he stood and brushed his hands on his shirt. "I suppose we'd best get to the hospital if we're going to make it in time?"

Sophie and Nathan headed out to their car, Lydia and Tomika standing to go to their car as well. Satomi closed and locked the house behind them, Lydia lingering for a moment.

"Why were you here tonight, Satomi?" Lydia asked curiously.

Satomi looked her in the eye and smiled briefly. "Sophie Clarkson works in the morgue and usually finds food that way, but even the morgue can have slow months. I provide sustenance to the Clarksons' so that they do not ravage the townspeople instead."

Lydia swallowed, her eyes wide. She wanted to check Satomi over for wounds, missing limbs, _something_ , but before she could even try, Satomi nodded and headed over to the Clarksons' car.

"Lydia, you coming?" Tomika called from their car.

Tomika was sitting in the driver's seat this time, and she didn't plan on swapping seats any time soon.

They arrived at the back of the hospital in time to see the Calaveras retreating, two hostages with them. Pulling up with a screech of tyres, Tomika kept the headlights pointed towards the group as Sophie and Nathan stepped out of their vehicle, hungry and ready to eat.

...

Sara figured she'd distracted Deaton long enough and started on the final steps of her spell. It was far more obvious than the first steps of the spell, which could be administered without the other person's knowledge; the final steps involved bright lights and excruciating pain.

Deaton flinched when the light appeared in front of his eyes, knowing at a glance just what it was and what it meant. "You... you can't."

Sara raised an eyebrow, looking at Deaton with an 'obviously, I can' expression. Returning her full concentration to the spell, Sara closed her eyes and ignored Deaton; she couldn't risk being distracted now.

"Please. Please, don't. I'll... I'll do anything. I'll leave town. I'll leave the country. Please, don't do this! I have too many enemies. I won't survive a night unprotected. This will leave me defenceless and - "

Deaton's words cut off abruptly, giving way to a scream of pure and agonising pain.

Kuhle shuddered, stepping back without really realising it. Staring at the lights that wove a pattern around Deaton, Kuhle was both terrified and mesmerised when the lights began to dive into, through, Deaton's body. They seemed to come out of Deaton that little bit bigger and brighter than they had been going in.

Sean put a hand on Kuhle's shoulder, getting his attention. "You can leave if you want."

Looking to Sara, Kuhle shook his head briefly. "I'll stay, thank you, sir."

They were silent for the moment - Deaton was being loud enough for both of them, and then some - and watched the lights as they continued to make a detailed and complex pattern around and throughout Deaton's body.

"Do you know what Sara's doing, sir?" Kuhle asked, his voice soft so he didn't disturb her.

"No idea; we can ask her after she's finished whatever it is she's doing."

Not entirely pleased with the response, but figuring that he didn't any other choice, Kuhle settled back and continued to watch and wait.

...

Ethan ran out of the hospital doors expecting a fight. He stumbled to a stop when he saw Lydia taking the hood off Isaac's head with no sign of the Calaveras or their crew anywhere. Frowning, he sniffed and tried to determine what had happened by scent alone. It was mostly fear, anger, blood, and... _hunger?_

"What the fuck is going on here?" Ethan asked, tempted to knock Lydia aside so he could check Isaac for himself.

"The Calaveras are dead and the cause for their deaths - and subsequent disappearances - are... unknown," Rafe said. He had already counted to ten twice to control his anger, and was starting towards thirty.

Ethan felt a little conflicted over hearing this; on the one hand, he was trying to honour Aiden's wish to be better, but on the other, the Calaveras had tortured him and locked Isaac in the morgue's fridge. He couldn't say he was upset that the Calaveras were dead.

"It all happened so quickly; we didn't see what happened," Lydia lied.

Ethan was surprised that he could only _just_ hear a telltale tick of her heart; either Lydia was telling more truth than lie, or she'd figured a way to tell a lie without her heart betraying her. He wasn't sure which he preferred.

"Ethan, you're okay! Is Jackson all right?" Isaac asked, pulling him in for a tight hug.

"He's healing. What about you? They practically put you in a metal coffin," Ethan said, his snarl muffled against Isaac's shoulder.

"I'll probably have a few nightmares, but I'm alive," Isaac said, clinging Ethan a little tighter. "Why's Jackson healing?"

"Malia put a hole in his stomach to save him? I guess?"

"What?"

Ethan just shook his head and shrugged. Isaac didn't seem appeased at his response and practically pulled Ethan back into the hospital to check on Jackson himself.

"Miss Jones? I want to know what happened here tonight, and I think you know more than you're telling," Rafe said, his words tight through a clenched jaw.

Tomika looked Agent McCall in the eye. "Officially, sir: it was dark, everything happened too fast, and I didn't see a thing."

"And unofficially?"

"You don't want to know, sir. The truth is not worth the trauma."

Rafe counted to fifty, then looked from Tomika to Lydia. They were both pale and Lydia was trembling, and now that he was thinking about someone other than himself, Rafe knew that it had nothing to do with the cold weather. He forced himself to nod in response to Tomika's words, though some part of him wondered if the security feed was available. With that thought in mind, Rafe turned and went back into the hospital.

Tomika let out a shuddering breath of pure relief; she'd worried that Agent McCall would threaten her recruitment if she hadn't told him the truth. To be honest, it was still a likelihood, but it wasn't her main concern. She looked at Lydia, saw that she was trembling, and jogged up to the car to retrieve a blanket from the backseat. Wrapping it around Lydia's shoulders, she tilted Lydia's chin up so she could look at her eyes and see if she was going into shock. Lydia's lips parted and her eyes widened slightly.

"Hey, you two coming? The fight's over, everyone's alive... Mostly," Grant amended, thinking of the hole still healing in Jackson's stomach; he'd left the morgue just so he wouldn't faint again.

Tomika sighed and glared over her shoulder. "We'll meet you at the front, Grant."

"Okay, cool. Uh... Did I interrupt something?" Grant asked, realising that they were both glaring at him. "Right, never mind. Sorry!" he called, the door closing as he left as fast as his feet would allow.

Lydia laughed incredulously and shook her head. "So... Did he interrupt something?"

Tomika grinned. "I was checking to see if you were going into shock... Mostly," she added, lighting up when Lydia laughed again.

Her laughter fading after a moment, Lydia looked at Tomika, licking her lips briefly. Noticing Tomika's gaze fall to her mouth, Lydia felt something she hadn't felt in years: powerful and in control again. It was a heady feeling, but it was nothing compared to what Lydia felt when she surged up on her toes to kiss Tomika. Tomika's arms wrapped around her, her lips curving into a smile, and she deepened the kiss eagerly, sweet and warm and hot and wet all at the same time.

"Hey, _whoa_. Sorry, never mind us!" Derek called.

" _Whoa_ what? Oh, go Lyds! And Tom, woo!"

Tomika unwrapped an arm from Lydia to give Stiles the finger.

...

End of the twenty-eighth chapter.

Author's note: yes, Sophie and Nathan are named after the Leverage characters.  
No, you don't want to know what they did to the Calaveras.


	29. Chapter 29

Chapter Twenty Nine

...

Stiles just laughed at Tomika's retort, pulling Derek back into the hospital so they could continue their search for Scott.

"I'm telling you, it doesn't even smell like Scott has been in here; he has to be somewhere else," Derek said for the third time.

"Yeah, well, we're searching the hospital from top to bottom until we find him. I don't want to disappoint Melissa; do you?"

"Of course not! But he's _not here_ ," Derek said adamantly.

A pink bubblegum bubble appeared in front of them. "Who're you guys looking for?" the bubble asked.

"Marcie, we can't see you," Stiles said.

Marcie popped the bubble, winding the gum around her finger and watching as it disappeared from sight. "Yeah, I know, it's more fun this way. So who're you looking for?"

"Scott, have you seen him?"

"Sure, he's outside helping with the patients."

"What?"

"He's been outside with Ari the whole time. He's totally sulking about it too," Marcie said with a laugh.

"No, I'm not!" Scott's voice came from the two-way.

"Dude, what the hell? We've been looking for you everywhere!" Stiles replied incredulously.

"According to what you told us on the plane, the Calaveras would have killed Scott for turning Liam, so I kept him as far away from the Calaveras as possible. Do you have a problem with this?" Ari asked, her voice sharp.

"No, no problem at all! Thank you for keeping Scott alive and safe and for putting up with his sulking. I've been there, and I know it's not pretty. How did you get past the puppy-dog eyes?"

Ari shook her head and handed the two-way back to Scott. "See, _thank you_ **is** an appropriate response to keeping you outside."

Scott scowled down at his feet, but sighed and looked up at the siren. "Thank you for keeping me alive and safe, Ari."

"Not a problem. Go help Parrish with your mother," she said, nodding over to where Melissa was looking through the crowd, Parrish holding her upright carefully.

Scott walked a few steps, testing the distance so he wouldn't be pulled back by Ari's voice as he had been before. When he realised he could go further than a metre, Scott bolted down to the parking lot to find his mother.

...

Mohammed helped the hospital staff usher the patients inside once more. The others helped when they realised that they wouldn't be able to leave until the patients were inside, and tried to get everyone into the hospital at a faster pace than they'd been evacuated. Most were too tired to argue, some practically sleep-walked back to their beds and blankets. Mr. Lancet, on the other hand, had apparently tasted sweet, sweet freedom and he refused to go back inside until Ari eventually coerced him with soft lilting words. Again, the children followed Teddy's whistling without a word or noise of complaint.

"That's still creepy as all hell," Tasha muttered, shivering.

"Has anyone heard from Sean yet? Or Sara or Kuhle?" Mia asked, looking at everyone in turn, receiving negative responses each time.

"I'm fairly sure those aren't fireworks," Li said, indicating to the glowing lights in the sky.

Everyone looked up into the sky, surprised to see the green and blue glowing lights over the forest. The top of the Nemeton could just be seen.

"We're not going back into the forest, are we?" Marcie asked with a groan; the coffee was wearing off and she wanted to do nothing more than sleep for a full twenty-four hours, maybe more.

"I'll go," Isaac volunteered. "I'll get there faster than most of you," he added with a shrug.

"I'll take that bet, Curly," Malia said, grinning.

"You know my name, Malia."

She just laughed. "C'mon, Curly, race you!"

Isaac kissed Ethan and Jackson before racing after her.

"Howl if you need help!" Peter called after Malia.

"Yes, Mum!" she called over her shoulder sarcastically.

"Stiles, why is Derek carrying you?" Scott asked, frowning at his best friend.

"Adrenaline's worn off; too tired to walk."

"Okay, but why is he carrying you bridal style?"

"Shut up, I'm snuggling."

Derek rolled his eyes in the fondest way possible.

"Nice to see you're looking out for your old injured father," the Sheriff said, grinning. Stiles struggled to get out of Derek's arms immediately, but was waved off by his father. "Don't worry about it, son. It was just a graze, and I'm fine," he added, nodding down to his leg. A pristine white bandage could be seen through the hole in his trousers.

Stiles sagged in relief, Derek shifting him slightly. "Don't do that to me again. Desk duty for the rest of the year, d'you hear me?"

"Considering the amount of people that come into the station... Never mind," Parrish cut off abruptly when both the Sheriff and Stiles glared at him.

"Desk duty, got it. You go and get some rest; you look like you need it," the Sheriff said.

Stiles didn't bother arguing and simply nodded. "We'll see you before we leave tomorrow."

"I'll be at the airport, you know," the Sheriff said with a smile. He turned to the rest of Stiles' pack, seeing everyone in varying stages of exhaustion. Waving Parrish over, the Sheriff took his two-way radio and changed the frequency to the police. "All available units, you are required at the hospital to transport civilians to the Beacon Hills Lodge."

The police units that had been patrolling the town earlier reported in almost immediately, grateful for something to do, and the Sheriff handed the radio back to Parrish. "Why are you shirtless and covered in soot, Jordan?"

"I took the hellhound back to Eichen House, sir."

Pausing and frowning, the Sheriff eventually sighed. "I'm assuming you didn't take a car?" When he received a nod of confirmation, the Sheriff shook his head. "I don't want to know any more than that."

"Yes, sir. I might head home now; it's been a long day," Parrish said, the Sheriff giving him his leave with a nod of acknowledgement. Parrish offered to drop a few people off at the hotel along the way, Mohammed, Li and Marcie accepting the offer gratefully.

"Sorry, sir, but the cameras were all switched off. We had no way of knowing whether the Calaveras were accessing them remotely as well, so Mia and I didn't want to risk it," Teresa said to Rafe as they left the hospital building.

"McCall; everything all right?" the Sheriff called, nodding to Teresa to give her an escape. He didn't miss the look of relief on her face as she hurried over to Mia and the cruiser that was arriving to pick them up. He also didn't miss Rafe's expression of anger and annoyance; in fact, the Sheriff was pretty sure it could be seen from space.

"Fine," Rafe snapped.

The Sheriff put a hand on the FBI agent's shoulder. "How about the truth, Rafe?" he murmured, leading him away from the curious recruits.

Rafe shrugged his hand off when they were around a corner and out of sight. Then he sighed and rubbed a hand over his face, his mask cracking and pure exhaustion shining through. "Sorry, Sheriff. I'm just... tired."

"I can see that. I can also see that's not the only thing bothering you. I heard you were locked in one of the fridge's in the morgue?" he prompted.

Rafe gave a small laugh, somewhere between disbelief and incredulous. "I thought... I _let_ them take me. I thought if I could get something on them, something _concrete_ this time, that I'd finally have them and that justice would be served. I... Now they're dead and I... I'm pissed off. Fuck," he said without any real feeling behind the word.

The Sheriff took a long time to think and consider his words before he replied. "Over the years, I've found that justice isn't always what we want - or think - it will be. Sometimes justice means they're six-feet under rather than wasting away in a six-by-eight-foot cell. Our kind of justice isn't always the best option to save people," the Sheriff admitted.

Rafe looked at the Sheriff, his eyes searching and only seeing truth. He looked away and sighed, running a hand through his hair. He stopped mid-stroke, his eyes widening as he straightened up, realising that he'd forgotten something - _someone_ \- important. "Scott. Is he - "

"He's fine, Rafe. He's already headed home with Melissa, in fact. He's hoping you'll drop by before leaving tomorrow to wish him luck at UC Davis," the Sheriff added.

Rafe slumped back against the wall. "Sorry, I should've checked on him first. I... I just got so caught up in trying to find the truth that I forgot everything else."

"The truth isn't worth everything else," the Sheriff muttered, unknowingly echoing Tomika's earlier words.

Sighing, Rafe nodded. "So I've been told. I'm only just starting to believe it myself."

Another police cruiser arrived, and the Sheriff clasped Rafe's shoulder. "Come on, McCall. Go to your hotel, sleep tonight off, and go see your son in the morning."

"All right. Thanks, Sheriff."

"No problem, Agent," the Sheriff replied with a grin.

...

Isaac made it to the Nemeton a full five seconds before Malia did. He'd planned on leaning against a tree, acting smug, the whole nine yards, but then Isaac saw what was happening inside the clearing and all he could do was stand there gaping.

"What's going on?" Malia asked warily as she approached, seeing the lights flashing across Isaac's face, shadows playing on his cheekbones.

"Stiles is in there."

"He can't be. He was practically asleep a minute ago, and Derek's not as fast as you or me," Malia said, frowning.

Yet when she looked into the clearing, Malia could see that Stiles was standing before Deaton, working several balls of magic in and out and around the Druid with effortless precision. Sara was on the ground, Kuhle beside her, and Sean was just shifting back to his human form.

Malia frowned, moving forward. Isaac reached out to stop her but she avoided his grasp and stepped into the clearing silently. Making a wide arc around Stiles, Malia sniffed, her head tilted to the side. She looked from Stiles to the Nemeton and back again, her frown deepening. "It's the Nemeton."

Her words surprised Isaac and he looked between Stiles, Malia, and the Nemeton. "What?"

"It's not Stiles. It's using his face or his body, or a copy of him, maybe? It's the Nemeton, not Stiles," she repeated, her words certain and firm.

Isaac stepped into the clearing quietly and stared at the scene before him. He sniffed a few times, coming to the same conclusion as Malia had, though he still had no idea _how_.

Sean must have heard or noticed them because he waved them over a moment later, though he never took his eyes off Stiles.

"What's going on?" Isaac asked.

"Sara collapsed a few minutes ago; she's used too much power tonight and this spell was depleting it even faster," Sean said. "The thing that looks like Stiles came out of the Nemeton and seems to be continuing Sara's spell. We've got no idea what the spell is," he added before they could ask.

"How long has not-Stiles been going?" Malia asked.

"About ten minutes so far. Sara did twenty minutes."

"Good, it should be finished soon then; Stiles said that most spells don't take more than an hour, otherwise the people doing them get too tired," Malia added.

"You came at a good time; Deaton's voice just gave up. He's been screaming for a while."

Isaac rubbed at his throat, frowning. Before he could say anything, the various balls of light flew directly into Deaton's body, all of them disappearing completely this time. Deaton arched off the tree trunk, bright and almost-blinding light pouring from his eyes and mouth. The light disappeared a second later and Deaton collapsed against the tree, unconscious for the moment.

Other Stiles let out a whooping laugh, breaking the silence, and turned around in some weird dance that would have been better with branches and leaves rather than limbs and fingers. He stopped abruptly when he saw the small audience. "It's been one hell of a night, huh?"

"You can say that again," Isaac muttered.

"Who are you, what are you, and what did you do to the Druid?" Sean asked, trying to sound firm and authoritative.

"The Nemeton, the Nemeton, and I finished off Sara's spell," Other Stiles said, ticking off his fingers, then smirked at them. "Next question?"

Other Stiles was met with a round of confused stares.

"Oh, come on, work with me here! This is the first conversation I've had outside of a teenager's head in _years_ ; you can't blame a guy for wanting it to last, right?"

"If you really are the Nemeton, then how are you outside of the Nemeton?" Kuhle asked; he'd only _just_ come to terms with the whole 'the tree is more than a tree' concept.

Other Stiles grinned, winked, and splayed his arms in a very Stiles-esque fashion. "Belief, baby." He snickered when everyone looked at him blankly. "Stiles was in me for a while and we had a heart-to-heart about fixing me up, and ergo, fixing the town up. Stiles took it a step further and believed as hard as he possibly could that _nothing and no one_ would be able to fuck with Beacon Hills again.

"Deaton was eventually going to fuck with Beacon Hills again, so... _voila!_ My physical manifestation and a bit of magic, and now we're back to plain ol' boring Beacon Hills," Stiles said with a flourish.

Isaac blinked and couldn't think of anything other than: _okay then_. He'd learnt over the years that sometimes it was just easier to accept the weird shit that was happening rather than try to fight it with something as simple as logic.

"Plain and boring aren't quite what I expected of the Nemeton of Beacon Hills," Sean said, careful with his words.

Other Stiles snorted. "Dude, you think you're old now? Just wait until you're as old as I am; you'll be _desperate_ for plain and boring. Which also translate to: peace and quiet. Trust me, it's more difficult to get when you're in a forest made up of every child, grandchild, great-grandchild, etc. that you've ever fathered. Noisy brats," he muttered, shaking a fist at a nearby tree.

The tree swayed in a non-existent breeze, several leaves floating out to smack Other Stiles in the face. Malia snorted and tried not to look _too_ amused when Other Stiles glared at her.

"All right, now get the fuck out of here. I want to sleep for the first time in forever without feeling like I've lost a limb," Other Stiles muttered, patting the Nemeton's - _his own?_ \- trunk fondly. "Oh, and tell Stiles to visit once in a while, would you?"

Kuhle picked Sara up carefully and Sean ushered everyone out of the clearing. They were still somewhat confused, but weren't willing to risk the Nemeton's wrath by staying and asking more questions.

...

The airport was full the next morning and it was an odd sight for most of the employees, who were used to a few business people and some weary holidayers leaving on a Monday morning (often people who had been forced to stop at Beacon Hills due to bad weather at the LA airport, and therefore grumpy and wanting to leave _yesterday_ ). Twenty-odd people, ten of whom were covered in an assortment of scratches, bandages, and bruises, and the other ten seemingly fine if not for the rips and tears on their clothes (and were those blood stains?). The conversations they overheard only caused further confusion.

"So what did you actually do with those lights last night?" Kuhle asked, refreshed and alert after his sleep, but no less confused.

Sara, who was _not_ a morning person, took a long and savoured drink of her coffee before answering. "The lights removed his magical spark; they're designed to take a little bit of power each time they enter the body, dispersing it back into the world once they're outside of the body again. It's a delicate spell and has to be done carefully, otherwise it can... well, _kill_ a person isn't quite right, but at the same time, it is? Either way, removing too much power at once isn't a good thing for either person involved: it drains both people too quickly, and can be just as harmful to the caster as the person the spell's been cast on."

Kuhle nodded slowly, a few things cleared up but leaving a hundred questions in their place. Sara hid a grin behind her coffee cup, figuring that she'd let him ask his questions over time. She almost spat out her coffee when she saw Li leave the women's bathroom, their features changing a mere second before they entered the men's bathroom instead. Seeing the line snaking out of the women's bathroom, Sara understood and wished for that ability for herself.

" _What the hell do you mean it was Gerard?!_ "

A few people looked over at Stiles, who was staring at Tomika in shock.

"I was surprised too," Tomika said, shrugging.

"I'm not surprised - I'd narrowed it down to either him or Kate - but when the hell did you find this out?!" Stiles hissed, his voice a little quieter now.

"Uh, during the long-winded evil monologuing thing he did... while you were in the Nemeton, right."

Stiles looked between Tomika and Lydia, his eyes narrowing. "Is this because I called you Tom?"

Tomika smiled an unpleasant smile and clasped Stiles on the shoulder. "You bet your ass it is, Stilinski."

"FYI, next time I'll take the sparring match."

Lydia rolled her eyes. "Of course. Now, remember to text me when you land, and I'll be going to MIT at the end of the week, so I'll expect a text before I leave to wish me luck."

"I've had that in my calendar for weeks, Lyds... You weren't talking to me, were you?" Stiles asked.

Tomika smirked at Stiles. "No, she wasn't. I'll text you, don't worry about that. We've still got a Skype date Saturday?"

"Of course. Stiles, I'll Skype you beforehand at 7pm to show you my dorm."

"Great. I'm going over there - " Stiles said, gesturing over his shoulder in a vague, as far away from Tomika and Lydia direction as he could go. " - _before_ you start on the plans for world domination, or worse, the suit I'll be wearing to your wedding."

Both Tomika and Lydia looked at him with, frowning slightly. Despite looking nothing alike, their expression could've been held up in the mirror.

"That's ridiculous, Stilinski," Tomika said, shaking her head.

"It's going to be charcoal," Lydia added, as if it was obvious to everyone _but_ Stiles. Beside her, Tomika nodded in agreement.

"Creepy. Totally and utterly creepy," Stiles said, pointing at both of them and not-quite running away.

"Stiles, can I have a moment of your time?" Sean asked as he passed by.

Swerving abruptly to go back to his instructor, Stiles figured this was far enough from the creepy, creepy banshees for now. "Yes, sir?"

"The Nemeton's version of you... you have heard about what happened last night?" Sean asked before he went any further.

"Sara fell unconscious, Other Stiles came out of the Nemeton, used the Nemeton's magic and now Deaton's magic's gone. I think Parrish went and picked Deaton up this morning?" Stiles added, vaguely aware of his father discussing something on the phone far too early that morning.

Sean nodded. "The Nemeton mentioned you believed that, quote-unquote, 'nothing and no one would be able to fuck with Beacon Hills again'. Which somehow resulted in the Nemeton manifesting in a quasi-physical form to finish Sara's spell."

"Right?" Stiles said, the word drawn out as he tried to understand exactly what Sean was asking.

"Will the Nemeton be going around town fighting off anyone it thinks might be a threat?" Sean clarified.

"Oh! No, it doesn't have that range. I mean, it could probably scare off a few people in the forest if they tried logging it or something, but it can't hurt people in general. I'm pretty sure it can't, at least," Stiles mused, wondering if there was some way he could check that without being in the state.

"They won't be able to log the forest?" Sean asked, his voice taking on an odd quality that Stiles had never heard before.

Focusing on his instructor once more, Stiles noticed that Sean was holding a hand to his stomach, as though reliving a painful memory. "Well, they'll probably try, but things will _definitely_ go wrong, even without the public outcry," he said with a grin.

"All right, that's good to hear. Thank you," Sean said with a nod. "Oh, and the Nemeton said that you should visit it every now and then. You have yearly holidays, so I suggest you stop by Beacon Hills on your way to wherever else you might want to go."

"Uh, of course, sir. I'd have to visit my Pops anyway," Stiles said with a half-hearted shrug; seeing an old tree once a year probably wouldn't take too much time out of whatever holiday he ended up having.

Stiles was pulled away a second later, Erica glaring at him. "If you don't catch me up on _everything_ I've missed out on, I will hunt you down, Batman."

"I'll miss you too, Catwoman," Stiles said, grinning at Erica. "Did you get everything sorted with Ethan?"

"You mean did I beat him to a bloody pulp and leave him in _Rosa's_ dumpster?"

"A bit more specific than I meant, but yeah."

Erica sighed. "I figured he'd had enough with almost losing Isaac and Jackson in the same night, so I just knocked him out. He'll probably be conscious in time for their flight back to England."

"How kind of you," Stiles said with a smirk. "Hey, I wanted to ask: what's going on with you three?" he asked curiously, nodding to where Boyd and Allison were talking with Li and Grant. Marcie was probably there as well.

Erica looked from to Boyd and Allison and back to Stiles, arching her eyebrow. "Whatever we want."

Stiles figured it was none of his business anyway, and nodded. "Right. Sorry."

Shrugging, Erica changed the topic. "Chris has offered to homeschool us through our final year. Boyd's got some ideas about joining you in the FBI. He might convince me and Ally as well," she said, grinning.

A few metres away from Allison, Chris was standing with Peter, both of them talking with Sean. Peter had a firm clawed grip on Chris' arm to keep him human and stop him from lashing out in response to the myriad of scents that bombarded _everyone_ , let alone new werewolves with heightened senses. Chris frowned at Sean, trying to focus on what he was saying rather than the conversations from the hundreds of people around them. He inhaled and compartmentalised his emotions, exhaling and concentrating once more. Beside him, Peter's grip lessened slightly on his arm as he realised that Chris would be all right. _For now_.

"... internal review of all employees; we'd prefer to have our people in the cartels, rather than the other way around," Sean said with a wry smile.

"If I can help, let me know. I'd prefer not to have anyone in my father's employment, whether or not he's alive," Chris said.

" _For all passengers travelling to Arlington, Virginia on Flight A123, please proceed to Gate 19 for boarding._ "

"There you are, son," the Sheriff said with fond exasperation, Derek by his side. "I've been looking everywhere for you; I had to get Derek to sniff you out."

"You mean you can't see my colourful personality from afar?" Stiles asked with mock offence, grinning.

"Speaking of _colourful_ ," the Sheriff muttered, raising an eyebrow at Stiles' blue plaid shirt over a bright orange t-shirt.

Stiles just grinned and pulled him in for a hug. "I'll miss you, Pops. You'll eat properly, won't you? And text me so I know you're safe and nothing's happened. And keep me updated if something _does_ happen. And - "

"Stiles, everything will be fine."

"You said that last time, too," Stiles muttered, a real hint of worry in his voice, though he tried his best to muffle it into his father's shoulder.

"I know, and I mean it now just as much as I did then. There are some things I can't control, but I'll do my best with the things I can."

"All right. Be good and try to let people teach you things, okay?" the Sheriff said, his words echoing the same ones Claudia had said laughingly to Stiles on his first day at kindergarten.

Stiles smiled and let go of his father, wiping his eyes surreptitiously. "It's going to be so weird going back to _class_ after everything we've been through."

Another call went over the airport's PA system announcing the boarding of the Virginia flight.

"You two look after each other, understood?" the Sheriff said.

"Yes, sir," Derek said quickly.

The Sheriff smiled and held a hand out for Derek to shake. They shook hands like old friends, and Stiles decided then and there that he gave up on attempting to translate their handshakes.

"Has anyone seen Agent McCall?" Mia asked, frowning.

"Uh, no."

"He hasn't checked in yet and we're meant to be boarding," Mia said, looking around the crowd in case she'd missed him.

Rafe McCall's name was called over the PA system as a reminder to check in. As if on cue, Rafe ran into the airport.

"I'm here, sorry I'm late. I just checked in on my phone," Rafe explained, breathless as he showed a security guard his badge, putting his bag on the security conveyor belt.

"Where were you?" the Sheriff asked, seeing the curiosity practically pouring from the kids' faces, but realising that they weren't going to question a senior Agent about it.

"Talking with Scott before he left for UC Davis. I found a business card this time, and Scott promised to text when he arrived safe," Rafe added.

"Finally," Stiles said, rolling his eyes.

" _Would all remaining passengers for Flight A123 to Virginia please proceed to Gate 19 to board?_ "

"We'd better go before they take off without us," Mia said, practically herding them to the gate without room for argument.

She allowed everyone one final goodbye before ushering them all through the gate. The airport employees gave her a nod of thanks.

Halfway down the gangway, Rafe's phone started ringing loudly. Mia _almost_ glared at him for delaying them again. Rafe held up a hand in apology, taking his phone out of his pocket and continuing down towards the plane to placate her. "Hank?"

"Sir, you're not going to believe this. I've... I finally cracked the code. I mean, I think I have. There's still a few words that don't seem right, but I've got the important parts."

Rafe tried to concentrate on what Hank was saying - he was talking very fast, as though he'd consumed his body weight in caffeine in the past forty-eight hours and hadn't slept in even longer - and board the plane without receiving the full weight of Mia's glare. Vaguely, he wondered if Medusa was real.

"... there's a werewolf, and hunters. The hunters aren't good people though, not like the stories. The things they've done... they killed so many innocent people, sir," Hank ended with a small sob.

Ahead of him, Rafe saw Hale tense, Stiles looking around immediately to see what the threat was. His eyes flashed blue and he glared at Rafe, and he didn't have to wonder about Medusa because _that glare_ could kill a man on the spot.

"Hank, how long have you been awake?" Rafe asked, sighing heavily.

"Uh. Well... what day is it?" Hank asked weakly.

"Go home, Hank. Sleep for as long as you need, and I'll see you Wednesday, okay?" Rafe had the distinct impression that Hank was nodding on the other end of the phone. "In fact, get someone in security to drive you home."

Hank must have nodded again. "Good night, sir."

Rafe ended the call as he reached the plane, handing over his ticket. Being a senior agent in the FBI did have a small perk: First Class. Sean was already seated, looking as though he was desperately trying _not_ to hear the commotion from the Economy seats; it seemed as though Grant had accidentally sat on Marcie. Rafe turned his phone to flight mode and fiddled for a moment to store his bag in the overhead compartment.

"What are you planning on doing now, Rafe?" Sean asked, looking up at him curiously.

Glancing down the plane to where the recruits were sitting - Mia was glaring them all into submission - Rafe considered his options. "The death of the Calaveras and Argents is going to leave a vacuum in the cartel and hunter space. I'm thinking a special task force will be necessary," he said, glancing to Stiles before taking his seat beside Sean. "What about you?"

"I think I might retire," Sean replied, smiling serenely in the knowledge that he wouldn't have to deal with anyone - human, creature, or recruit - for as long as he wanted.

...

Stiles frowned, sitting up off his seat as much as he could so he could see into First Class. "What do you think they're talking about in there?" he asked Derek, settling back down onto his seat quickly when Mia glared at him.

"The food," Derek deadpanned.

"Very funny, Der," Stiles said, rolling his eyes.

Derek just grinned and held out his hand for Stiles to hold during takeoff. "Only for you."

Stiles smiled and kissed him, ignoring the gagging noises and wolf-whistles coming from his peers - no, his pack. _Much better_.

...

End of the twenty-ninth chapter.


	30. Chapter 30

Chapter Thirty - Epilogue

...

 _One year later_...

"We're sad to see you go, Sean; you will be missed. But we hope you have a wonderful retirement and think of us sometimes."

Sean smiled at the small group gathered - the newest recruits in the FBI, some of the older ones he'd taught, and a few other agents he'd known or worked with over the past fifteen years. "Thank you. It's been a great honour to work with you, and to train most of you here. I hope you'll do me proud."

Somewhere at the back of the room Jade snorted. Beside her, Mohammed raised an eyebrow at her curiously. She shrugged. "Sean's been trying to retire for a full year now; I'm pretty sure the only reason the FBI's letting him go now is because you're the only one who was stupid enough to take on his role."

"I think it will be a good experience to help shape the lives of the recruits. I only hope I can do as good a job as Sean has over the years."

"Yeah, well, you've both got an unnatural amount of patience," Jade said, grinning. "I wouldn't last a day with them without someone screaming."

Mohammed laughed. "I can only imagine. I would hope them rather than you," he added, smiling.

Jade grinned. "Yeah, I make no promises. Oh, the cake's being cut. Want a piece?"

"Please."

Sean's retirement party continued for another two hours, even though Sean wasn't actually present for most of it. He'd had enough socialising after an hour and left early, stopping only to say goodbye to a few people, Mohammed and Jade included.

Heading straight to the airport, Sean waited patiently for the flight to Beacon Hills. He had discussed claiming a suitable spot within the forest with the Nemeton; Sean was somewhat suspicious that the Nemeton had him put near one of his granddaughters.

Deputy Parrish was waiting for Sean at the Beacon Hills airport, not surprised to see Sean walking off the plane with little more than a carry-on bag.

"Thank you for the lift, Deputy."

"Not a problem. Do you want the scenic route or straight there?"

"Straight there, if you don't mind? I'd prefer to get settled in sooner rather than later," Sean said, not at all apologetic.

"Of course," Parrish said with a nod, leading him out to the cruiser. They were both silent as Parrish drove out of the airport parking lot and towards the forest. "Are you sure you want me to go with you?" he asked eventually.

Sean smiled at the offer. "I am tired, Deputy, but that does not mean I will forget. I'd prefer for someone to know where I am, just in case I'm needed again."

"All right. Between us, I really hope you aren't," Parrish said, grinning.

Sean laughed. "Ditto. How's it been here? Everything settled?"

"Peace, quiet, and small-town boring," Parrish confirmed. "We haven't had a monster, hunter, or even an unnatural death in eight months. I believe it's a town record."

"Who was the unnatural death?" Sean asked curiously.

"Someone tried to rob Mrs. Gawler while Teddy was in the store. We arrived in time to find the pieces he left behind."

"Ouch."

Parrish nodded in agreement, looking a little pale at the memory. "On the plus side, no one's tried to rob Mrs. Gawler since. I think she's getting bored."

Sean's laugh faded as they arrived at the forest's hiking entrance. He barely waited for Parrish to stop the car before he was getting out, inhaling the smell of trees and earth deeply. It smelled like home.

...

"Are you two packing or making out?" Malia called.

Peter held back his laughter as Chris sat up abruptly, his hair at odd angles. "We'll be right down, dear."

"Making out," Malia muttered, rolling her eyes.

Plonking down on the couch, Malia tapped her plane ticket on her thigh and waited impatiently. Her phone chimed and Malia opened the notification, smiling when she saw the messages from Allison, Erica, and Boyd.

Allison: _Get our lousy parents to France or just leave them behind and come by yourself!_

Erica: _We've found the BEST restaurant for venison. Boyd's booked a table for us tomorrow, so don't fill up on crappy plane & airport food._

Boyd: _Tell Peter to bring his credit card. Isaac and Ethan are surprising Jackson with a visit and he's either going to want food or clothes to make up for being left out of the loop. Probably both._

Erica included a photo of them at the restaurant, Boyd splayed out on his chair, looking as though he'd died and gone to heaven.

Malia laughed, saving the photo of the three of them to her phone.

"What's so funny?" Peter asked at the doorway.

"Plan on being broke by the time we're back; Isaac, Ethan, and Jackson are coming too."

"Oh, good. I'll be able to stock up on Hermes scarves for Isaac when we're there," Chris said, pressing a kiss to Peter's neck and stopping his sarcastic retort.

"Don't forget to text your father; he'll have my head otherwise," Peter said.

Malia grinned. "I've already let him know. He's been cleaning everything like crazy; I think it's the first time he's had visitors in years."

"Erica, Boyd, and Allison aren't staying for long; they're only coming back for a weekend before going to Quantico," Chris pointed out.

Malia snorted. "Tell my dad that."

An alarm sounded - Malia's phone - and she stopped it, grabbing her suitcase. "Come on, before we're really late."

"We're still early; how many alarms have you set?" Peter asked, grabbing his own suitcase nonetheless.

"All of them. Now move," Malia said, ushering them out the door.

Malia's phone chimed again with another message, this one from Yelena.

Yelena: _Have a safe flight! Let me know when you're in France; I need to live vicariously through you while I'm stuck in Kentucky. Kentucky, Malia. Rafe obviously hates me._

Putting her suitcase in the back of the car, Malia strapped herself up on the back seat and replied.

Malia: _He doesn't hate you; he only takes the best, remember?!_

Yelena: _So not the point. Jorge's in New York, lucky bastard._

Malia: _When? He didn't tell me!_

Yelena: _Mia called & he left at ass-o'clock this morning for a last-minute thing. Jorge gets cheesecake & I get chicken._

Malia: _At least it's crispy?_

Yelena: _I hate you. Have a good flight._

Malia: _I know. I'll let you know when I'm there!_

"No last-minute things we need to get?" Peter called before he locked the door.

"We can buy them in France!" Malia called back.

"She's right, Peter," Chris said with a grin.

Peter grumbled under his breath about credit cards, but was in the car a second later, turning on the ignition and heading towards the airport.

Malia: _Heading to the airport now, Dad. Don't clean too much, okay? Everything looks fine already. Love you_.

Dad: _I'll try. Be safe. Love you too, Malia_.

...

"Morning, Sheriff. We're selling chocolates to raise money for new crosse sticks for the lacrosse team. Coach said if we don't get enough money, we'll have to sell Greenberg on the black market."

"Liam, it's seven in the morning. I just finished a double shift an hour ago."

"I told you," Mason hissed at his best friend, Liam wincing when he saw how tired the Sheriff looked.

The Sheriff sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "How much?"

"Five bucks for a block."

"Great, give me two, then go bother someone else. Mr. Lancet's home," the Sheriff added, nodding across the road.

Mason grinned. "Thanks, Sheriff."

The Sheriff nodded distractedly, trying to find his wallet. "Mel, have you seen my wallet?"

"On the bench with your keys," Melissa said behind him, offering his wallet. She was dressed in purple scrubs, and looked at the two seniors. "Come by the hospital around three o'clock; there'll be a line of nurses and doctors ready for their sugar fix."

"Awesome! Thanks, Mrs. ... uh, Melissa."

Swapping a ten dollar note for two chocolate blocks, the Sheriff thanked Liam and Mason, and promptly shut the door on them.

" _Mrs. Uh_ , that's a new one," Melissa said with a grin, pressing a kiss to her husband's cheek and stealing a chocolate bar from him. "Go and sleep. There's leftovers in the fridge when you're hungry," she added, tucking the chocolate into her bag.

"Thanks, Mel," the Sheriff murmured tiredly, making his way upstairs. He stopped at the top and looked back down at his wife, his eyes narrowing. "Put my chocolate bar back."

Melissa laughed and returned the second bar to the hall stand. "Good night."

"Night, Mel."

Melissa closed the front door quietly, trying not to laugh when she saw Mason and Liam knocking on Mr. Lancet's door. She hoped they survived the encounter and she'd see them later that afternoon.

On the drive to the hospital, Melissa saw Jordan's new signs in shops declaring his intention to run for the Sheriff's position now that Sheriff Stilinski was retiring. Melissa knew for a fact that Jordan would have both hers and her husband's votes.

...

Scott smiled when he saw his father's icon light up green. He pressed the video call button, waiting patiently for Rafe to accept the call and appear on his screen. "Hey, Dad."

"Hey, Scott. How are you?"

"Not bad, just studying for finals."

"How's that going?" Rafe asked. He hated how hesitant he sounded; even after a year, he still felt awkward when talking to his son.

"Could be better," Scott admitted. "I'm just anxious to get it over and done with, I think."

"Big plans afterwards?"

"Sort of? I'm heading back to Beacon Hills after my exam; Dr. Deaton wants me to get as much hands-on experience as I can."

"Has Deaton recovered? The Sheriff told me he had a few rough months there with him."

"Yeah; he spent some time in Eichen House. Ms. Morrell helped him through it, though I don't think Dr. Deaton liked being told what to do by his sister very much," Scott mused. Then he shrugged. "He seems to be all right now; I think focusing on being a vet rather than a Druid helps him."

There was a knock at Rafe's door and he looked up to see Rodriguez waiting. "Sorry, son; it looks like I've got a meeting to go to. Good luck with your exams; let me know how you go. And be careful with Deaton; let me know if you need any help."

"Thanks, I will. Talk later," Scott said cheerfully, ending the call.

...

Mia set down the last boxes in the office space, looking around proudly at the FBI's brand new office. Teresa ripped open a box, moving several reams of paper to the printer.

"Where do you want this, Mia?"

"I'd be able to tell you if I knew what _this_ was, Marcie," Mia replied, rolling her eyes.

Marcie appeared and pulled a face at her. "You could've at least _tried_ to guess."

"Why are you carrying a picture frame, Marcie?" Grant asked, frowning at her.

"We're playing Guess the Invisible Thing Marcie's Holding," she replied with a grin.

"No, I mean, I didn't think we had a picture frame? Is a President's face in there?"

"Hell no; we're putting up a team photo once everyone's arrived," Mia said. "Or a picture of my brand new car."

"Tough decision," Marcie snickered. "I'd prefer the car, myself."

"We all know you're going to have a photo of your car on your desk, Mia, just stick with the team photo," Teresa called out.

"Don't make me regret joining this task force," Ari called out, looking as though she was battling a headache already.

Yukimi rolled her eyes. "Please, _everyone_ can tell how excited you are about this. Even Li mentioned it on the way over."

"I'm very observant," Li said, grinning. "Anyway, your excitement was way better than being stuck with Kuhle and Sara making lovey-dovey faces at each other," they said, pulling several faces.

"How long until Tomika arrives? She's visiting Lydia tonight, isn't she?" Ari asked.

"She'll be here tomorrow, probably around the same time as Sara and Kuhle," Mia said. "Apparently, if she misses another date night, we're all getting banshee screams at odd times of the night."

Grant shuddered. "How many date nights does she need? Tomika can have mine."

Li snorted. "I don't think your girlfriend would approve of that, Grant."

Marcie turned red, disappearing after giving Li the finger.

"Please tell me other adults are arriving sooner rather than later," Ari asked.

"Caleb, Tasha, and Okami are arriving tomorrow afternoon," Mia promised with a smile. "Now, everyone get back to work."

"Yes, Mia!"

...

Tomika checked her watch for the third time in as many minutes, cursing the traffic and public transport system. Her phone had died half an hour ago, just as she'd tried to text Lydia to let her know that she was going to be late. Tomika muttered about useless banshee powers that couldn't even predict her phone's death.

Distracted by checking the time yet again, Tomika almost bowled over another pedestrian. She was halfway through an apology when she realised that she'd knocked into Lydia.

"Lydia? Shit, are you okay?"

"Fine," she replied, brushing off her dress. "I guess we're both running late then?"

"Traffic sucks," Tomika said with a brief grin.

"It took me twenty minutes to get here from MIT, so I completely agree," Lydia muttered, rolling her eyes and glaring out at the traffic in general.

"We're not too late; think they'll still have our table reserved?"

"They'd better," Lydia said, her lips pursed.

Tomika laughed and pressed a firm kiss to her lips. "I missed you."

"Missed you too," Lydia said, squeezing her hand gently. "How's work been?" she asked once they were seated.

"Not too bad; I finished a job in Ohio yesterday. Idiots thought it was a good idea to lie to me," Tomika said, shaking her head.

"I hope you made them regret it."

"I'm pretty sure their ears are still ringing," she said with a grin. "How's MIT? Has what's his name stopped hitting on you yet?"

"Yes, thankfully. Jorge very kindly helped when he was in town; no one's dared to come near me in a week. It's been quite relaxing."

Tomika laughed. "I wondered what had Jorge looking like the cat that caught the canary; he wouldn't tell me!"

"I'll tell you later when we're not eating," Lydia said.

"Oh, I plan on eating for a long while yet," Tomika said with a broad grin, giving Lydia a slow and heated once over.

Lydia grinned back at her. "Good."

...

Stiles set the box down on the bare mattress, looking around the shoebox apartment fondly. Considering how small the apartment was - even without his belongings in it anymore - it didn't take very long at all.

"Caleb's trying to use our moving boxes to create a life-size version of Tetris; Okami and Tasha are threatening to make him run to California... What are you doing?" Derek asked, stopping behind Stiles since he was crowding the doorway.

"Reliving the last year of living in this place."

"You hated living here. You said as much at least two times a day, but you still wouldn't let me buy a place with more than four walls."

Stiles turned to face Derek. "There was no point buying somewhere else when I didn't know how long I'd be at Quantico. Besides, it doesn't mean I can't have fond memories of the place."

"What, like stepping on my toes three times in five minutes?" Derek said pointedly, his expression turning to a grin.

"That was an accident!"

Derek kissed him. "I know. Now help me and grab something."

Stiles smirked and grabbed Derek's ass.

"Not _that_ ," Derek muttered, resting his forehead on Stiles' shoulder. "Come on, the sooner we're out of here and in the new place, the sooner we can have sex in every room."

"Honey, we can hear you!" Tasha called from a floor down.

"I'm going to rearrange the boxes again," Caleb said, leaving without waiting for a response.

Okami rolled her eyes and continued upstairs with Tasha to grab the last of Stiles and Derek's belongings.

Stiles laughed and cupped Derek's face, moving him so they were eye to eye. "Sweet talker," he murmured, kissing him again. Pulling away, Stiles grabbed the box he'd set down earlier. "Come on, Hale, get moving."

"Yes, sir, Special Task Force Leader Stilinski."

Stiles grinned. There were some days he could hardly believe this was his real life, but it really was. Stiles couldn't wait to see what else life had in store for him.

...

Author's note: No, I haven't revealed what Teddy is.

Tomika's backstory. (I left the best 'til last.)

Tomika grew up in New Orleans with her Gram. She didn't find out until she was older that she was the lone survivor of the car crash that killed her parents and a bus full of tourists. Her Gram always suspected that she'd been saved for a greater purpose, putting a lot of pressure on Tomika as a child. Tomika found out that she was a banshee by screaming the neighbour's cat's name in the middle of the night. Her Gram was woken by her screaming and they both found what was left of the cat the next morning. Their neighbour found them with the remains and accused Tomika of a lot of things that were impossible considering she was only four years old. Tomika's Gram wasn't exactly a witch, but she could give the Evil Eye better than anyone else on the street; their neighbour left the next week after a series of unfortunate accidents befell them.

On realising what Tomika was, her Gram took her to a local witch doctor whom she trusted more than a hospital doctor. Spending her meagre savings to buy as many books as possible, Tomika's Gram home-schooled her. She taught her to control her banshee powers between everyday school lessons. They tried everything from out of body experiences to aromatherapy if her Gram thought it would help (the latter certainly didn't; Tomika spent a week sneezing). Through a lot of trial and error, Tomika learnt the best way to control her powers and not let them control her. She filled a notebook within a week.  
(Tomika is terrified she'll have to scream her Gram's name one day.)

Joining the FBI hadn't been anything Tomika had really considered until she received the invitation. Her Gram encouraged her to apply, at least so she would know whether she could do it or not, and Tomika sent her application in the next day.

Tomika's Gram is very proud of her and she loves Lydia. (So does Tomika.)

...

The end.

Thanks for reading; I hope you liked it!


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